


Incandescence

by PadawanTimeLord



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (i guess), Alpha Armitage Hux, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Cunnilingus, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Rituals, Mentions of sex trafficking, Omega Reader, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, sex with feels, stranded on a planet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-04-04 11:31:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14019336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PadawanTimeLord/pseuds/PadawanTimeLord
Summary: While out stealing supplies for the Resistance, your crew accidentally stumbles on a covert transport. Without much thought, you manage to commandeer the ship and kidnap its high-class passenger, a familiar general with ginger hair.Bunkering in the nearest, most secure location (an old Rebellion base that barely has any function left), you wait for orders from General Leia. During the lull, you begin to integrate yourself as a part of your alpha prisoner's life, habituating him towards you. As the only other being he has contact with, he will begin to associate you with a false sense of security.However, before you can break him, the First Order begins bombing the base. That leaves you stranded, alone with an alpha, edging on the precipice of your heat cycle. Without suppressants.Force almighty, you hope your techniques work on him.





	1. Chapter 1

_ Interrogate the prisoner,  _ they said.  _ It will be fun, _ they said. 

 

It probably isn’t the most ideal of scenarios. You and a few fellow Resistance members are stuck with a high-ranking First Order prisoner, captured from one of the transport ships that were raided to steal food for your soldiers. No one expected to find him, he probably did not expect to be caught, and now you are stuck with a First Order General with barely a word from the Resistance Counsel. 

 

_ Keep him secure. Will make contact when safe to do so. _

 

He sits in his cell, bound with both ropes and cuffs, the chair he sits in screwed to the ground. He’s apparently not used to being captured by enemy soldiers, hasn’t even made a move to try and escape. Back straight, chin out, as though posing for a fancy painting only the rich can afford. 

 

The door creaks when it opens, an ungodly sound that no one has bothered to fix in this dump of a base. You step into the makeshift prison, looking at him up and down and twitching your mouth into a frown. His scent his your nose, causing your mouth to water involuntarily. An Alpha. A strong one, at that. Fabulous. 

 

Spinning the chair around, you settle down in front of him, arms draping over the backrest. “So.” You have nothing in your hands to mess with to ease your nerves, so you steel yourself carefully and look him in the eye.  _ Establish dominance. _ “Hello, there. What a place to find yourself in, huh?” 

 

A low growl emits from his throat, so quiet that you are almost certain you imagined it when he smiles at you, a deathly glare that would send anyone else into cardiac arrest. You carefully fold your fingers together, returning the smile but twisting it into something cheerful. “Well, good to see you still have your vocal cords. That can always change, you know.” You pull a knife from your sleeve. “When I was a kid, I went to this flying circus. Crazy shit, let me tell you. There was this one act where a man would swallow a part of his sword, and pull it out like it was nothing.”

 

“Does this story have a point, Ensign?” Ahhh, he decides to speak. His voice is low, rough, severely dehydrated. No one wanted to risk untying his hands to eat, and there were no volunteers to feed him. 

 

 “I was getting to it before you interrupted me.” You flick the blade out from its sheath. “So the sword swallower had an apprentice who apparently was eager to show off his skills. At the end of the main event, the apprentice came out and did his own little bit, going off script in an attempt to impress I don’t know who, maybe it was his master, or maybe it was a pretty person in the audience. But, oh boy, did he do something wrong.”

 

You flip the knife, catching it in your other hand. “He started vomiting blood. The first three aisles were a splash zone.” You mimic a wave, opening your palm and shoving forward, making a soft whooshing noise. “Now imagine, if you will, a rather rambunctious nine-year-old in the audience laughing hysterically at the violence until she gets a mouthful of insides. That was the first day I think I was able to comprehend my own mortality, as the sword swallower’s apprentice lay in a pool of his own insides and died, without anyone to love him by his side as his body went cold, surrounded by parasites that feed off of other people’s misery." You pause, rethinking your statement. "Well, and also when my father was eaten alive by a diagnoga.” You chuckle, slamming the blade down on the table. 

 

“God, of all the unpleasant ways to die.” You smile at him. “Based on my colorful description,  _ sir, _ what do you think I’ll do to you if you don’t cooperate?” 

 

His eyes look at you, devoid of many things. Almost depraved. He glances down at your stomach and licks his lips, slowly, before saying, “They sent an omega to interrogate me. I’m almost impressed.” 

 

Rage burns inside like acid, churning your stomach. Fuck him and his backwater, caveman ways. You jut your chin out, grinding your teeth together in a conscious effort not to jump out and strangle him. Your superiors need him intact. Well, mostly intact, anyway. You don’t specifically need to beat much intel from him; you are only here to break him before gifting him to Leia.

 

“So I see we’re done here,” You state coldly, picking up your knife and leaving the room. 

 

Solitary. On an alpha that thrives on asserting his rank on others, he will begin to crave any kind of attention once he has been alone for long enough. You’ve broken stronger men. 

 

A cup of caf waits for you up in what is left of mission control in this godforsaken base. Everything is hastily set up; several people are trying their damnedest to get all the outdated machinery to work. When it turned out that the supply shuttle was, in fact, a luxury transport in disguise, everyone worked beautifully and managed to capture it still, though barely by the skin of their teeth, and unanimously voted to hunker down in one of the Old Rebellion’s bases. Since even stepping a toe out into the sunlight is considered a risk, everyone stays inside and hope that General Leia will send someone to fetch the captured alpha soon. 

 

You sit in the captain’s chair, standing in for your mission leader, and take a sip of that luscious and warm liquid. Amazing. The food that the supposed freighter had is all gourmet, the Alpha pansy unable to eat anything that was freeze-dried at any point in its shelf life. Everyone shared the meat (real, actual meat. You can hardly believe it) the first night of the base, though now everything is carefully rationed out to last. 

 

An orange tabby mews lovingly in the arms of Kort, an airman that’s barely a teenager. You frown. Where did he even find that animal? It quickly leaves your mind as you smell whatever the cook is making. 

 

Three days later, you try the prisoner again. 

 

“Hux.” You yawn, pouring a tall glass of water in front of him. “How is your stay? I hope your neck is doing alright; I know how awful stiff that chair can be.”

 

His eyes have dulled from hunger and thirst. He eyes the glass of water lustfully, trying his best not to look like he wants it too much. Knowing he’s too weak to do much, you reach over and untie the bounds at his wrists, allowing him to move enough to drink. 

 

At first, he does nothing. Then he reaches over, sniffing at the cup, and then drinks like there’s no tomorrow. As he does, you wander through the cell, checking the structural integrity of the walls, making sure the air duct is too small for his frame to crawl through, and testing the creaky give of the door. You go over to the bathroom, picking at the rusty sink until finally, some red-tinted water gurgles out. Yes, this should be fine to hold him, for the time being. 

 

You take the glass and pitcher, loosening his bounds to give him room to wriggle out once you are gone, and leave. 

 

The next morning one of your comrades asks you to go stop his infernal banging. 

 

You walk into the hall, already hearing the crashes that are erupting from his fit of rage. You nod at one of the guards, who opens the door for you to step through. The chair he throws misses your face by a hair; it takes every bare ounce of your self-control not to flinch. You put your hands on your hips and purse your lips, looking at him as though he is nothing more than an unruly six-year-old. 

 

His hair, which was perfectly groomed when you first saw him, is disheveled and grimy with rust and dirt. His eyes are darkened with rage, his skin pallid and gaunt. Chest bare. Dusty beard growing back from lack of shaving. His boots and pants are still on, thank goodness. You wouldn’t want to deal with a naked raging man first thing in the morning.

 

The room is a fucking mess. The two chairs have been thrown around, dents down the aging wall, the table overturned and one of the legs ripped clean off. He holds it now, keeping it over his head and making for you like he’s about to stab you.

 

You pull something smaller than a cigarette lighter from your jacket, flick the top off, and firmly press down the button. The response is immediate. The chip you had inserted into him electrocutes his body, lightning visibly traveling from his neck up to his raised wrist, causing his fingers to spasm and release his makeshift weapon. He collapses to the ground. 

 

You make a disappointed  _ tsk, tsk, _ sound, going his limp body with the edge of your boot. “I expected more from you, general,” You say softly, bending down so he can look you in the eye. You breathe in his scent, the pheromones of sex and dominance almost sending you straight into heat, and smile. 

 

“I’ll be back later.” You stand, turning your back on him and leaving. The door shuts after you. 

 

General Leia manages to make contact, though her message is the same as before:  _ Hang on, don’t let the prisoner go. We’ll send for you when it is safe to do so. _

 

The next day, you return to his cell. He sits in a corner, looking up at you with the eyes of defeat. You brought food, which he eyes like a wild animal. Carefully, you set the table back up, taking out a roll of heavy duty suction tape and managing to repair the leg temporarily. You put the food on the table and smile at him. “Please, eat.” 

 

He stays where he is, eying you warily. 

 

You sigh, beginning to pick at his food. “I am going to be honest with you, Hux. I hope you can be the same with me.” 

 

“Scum.” He coughs, holding his hand up to his mouth. 

 

“Excellent start. You think me as scum, and to be fair, when I was in your situation, I also felt the same way about the other party.” You pop something green and crunchy into your mouth, Chew. Swallow audibly. Taking a long, long sip of water. “But I came to appreciate what they were teaching me. Oh, yes, I did end up killing them all  _ horribly, _ however, the lessons I learned have value in everyday life.” You spear a chunk of mushroom with your knife, wiggling it in his direction. You arch your eyebrows, take a bite, and leave him with your leftovers. 

 

Three days later he waits for your arrival, sitting on the table, hands folded in front of him. You smile, a full, joyful grin, and set the food down in front of him. Even though he must not have had much in the past week, he still eats like a princess. Daintily, even with shaking hands. You watch him eat, silent, and leave with the dishes when he is done. 

 

The day after, you pull a different tactic. You bring your own marginally more comfortable chair and datapad and sit in the room for about half an hour. Not saying anything. Just working. His attempts to ignore you fail and he is left with just having to deal with your presence. Once the half hour is up, you leave. 

 

You repeat this, gradually increasing your time with him until you are locked in that room for two hours every day, eating lunch with him, not speaking to him. And then, finally,  _ finally, _ he says something. 

 

“Times like these, you often wonder about the ones left behind.” 

 

You don’t respond at first, your throat suddenly feeling dry, but you chalk it up to dehydration. Slowly, you look up towards him, letting your eyes meet his. “You got anyone?” You finally ask, glancing down at your datapad.

 

He shakes his head, staring at the wall. 

 

You hide your smile. Progress. 

 

The omega suppressants are rationed a little more strainingly than you would have liked, with your heat coming up. Usually, just to be safe, you all but overdose yourself on the medications to keep everything tightly at bay. Which means that even with the dangerously low amount you’ll be allowed, it’s going to hit you harder than ever before. With a big strong alpha prowling in his cage, that is not good. Not good at all. 

 

There’s nothing you can do about it, though. 

 

You sit in the room with Hux, the scent steadily growing harder to ignore and more insistent. Even though your eyes are on the datapad, trying to read a book one of your comrades suggested, it’s hard to think about philosophy when fucking  _ right there _ is the answer to your problems. 

 

You sneak a glance over. 

 

The diet you currently have him on softened the angles of starvation. His muscles have not lost their bulk; he must still be exercising when you aren’t in the room. His beard has grown slightly, and though you plan on letting him shave as a test of his cooperation, all in all, he is most probably not the most hideous of alphas you have ever laid eyes on. 

 

Those pale, carefully clean hands you want tugging at your waist. That mouth, wet with your slick, sucking hickies on your collarbone. The longer you stay, the more obscene your thoughts get. You leave before the allotted time is up before you can make a fool of yourself. 

 

He looks up at you as you go, the corner of his mouth turning up into a smirk. The bastard.

 

You inject yourself with the smallest bit of suppressants. It’s not enough. You sleep, plagued by dreams of naked ginger fucking you until you scream for mercy. 

 

Alarms almost rupture your eardrums, waking you from your shame. You manage to snap your bra on in an attempt to make yourself halfway decent, running down the hall up to the control center. 

 

“The fuck is going on?” You demand, running your finger over your scalp. The alarm alone is shaving ten years off your life; god forbid whatever the cause for it. 

 

“First Order Bombers are en route.” One of the other rebels is hastily packing up any salvageable equipment. “These-”sparks burst from the wire he is working on, profanities spewing from his mouth left and right, “fucking goddamned air sonars couldn’t even- mother of gods, they didn’t pick them up until now.” 

 

Your blood runs cold. “How long do we have?” 

 

“Ow! Fuck. Not enough. Evacuation is underway, but the fucking intercoms don’t- force almighty,” another spark blinds you momentarily, “don’t work so we have to do it the old-fashioned way.” 

 

“Shit,” You bark, kicking the wall. “Shit shit  _ shit.” _ You take a carefully controlled deep breath. “We’ll do as we always do: work with what we have. Have a roster drawn up of the personal. I’ll run down the halls and tell everyone we’re getting the hell out.” 

 

People are running to the two ships available: Hux’s ship, and the resistance ship you attacked it with. There aren’t a lot of personnel, you know them all by name, so it is somewhat worrisome when a few turn out missing. Especially since the bombers are going to be within firing range in any minute. 

 

You turn to the leader. “Leave without me if you have to.” 

 

Despite protests, you jump from the safety of the ship onto the ground, trying desperately to find Kort. Through the maze of hallways, down past the room ,he bunked in, to see if his chocolate mop of hair is in the cafeteria. “For fuck’s sake, Kort, move your ass!” You yank on his collar, hauling him to his feet. He cries out, reaching for a blur of orange that jumps up past you. 

 

“I can’t leave without her!” He kicks at you, tears in his eyes. Your dumbass heart softens at the sound of his sobs, and you say something that you just  _ know  _ are going to regret. 

 

“Get to the fucking ship, kid; I’ll get your dumb cat.” 

 

He looks at you again, crying freely, and nods. His wiry limbs stumble as he quickly runs back to the launching docks, leaving you to curse your own stupidity. 

 

“Here, kitty, kitty.” You mumble, going in the direction you think you saw the orange mass go. Luckily, it’s not a shot in the dark, because soon you hear an angry yowl as the cat tries to scratch something open. Perfect. You run towards the sound, ending in front of the cell where Hux is. The cat is mewing desperately, scratching at the door, trying to get in. 

 

And he’s  _ cooing. _ Saying things like “there, there, Millicent” and “everything is going to be alright.”

 

And, of course, you are livid that no one fucking thought to grab the prisoner, ya know, the  _ reason that you all are here in the first place.  _ You don’t have a spare set of keys, and it will take far too fucking long to run back to the ship on the off chance one of them remembered to grab a set. You scoop up the cat, take a deep breath, and kick at the lock. A piece flies off promisingly. You do it again, and again, and again, until the rusted metal shrieks and it flies off. 

 

An explosion rocks the entire base, nearly throwing you off your feet. The already unstable ceiling groans, pieces of rust and dirt fall from above. Grabbing a blaster for extra protection, you kick open the door and face your prisoner. 

 

He’s cleaned up a bit, wearing the plainclothes provided to him. His hair is wet, as though he was trying to wash when all this bullshit started. Strong alpha- no, fuck, not the time. You jerk your head, gesturing with the gun. “Time to go, princess.” 

 

He starts walking towards you, and then everything collapses. 

 

Your vision goes black. Your ears ring, and you think you hear someone calling for you. Rocks and sand roll beneath you as something- someone pulls you from the rubble. You blink several times, grit burning your eyes, trying desperately to focus on something, anything, and then you see him with perfect clarity.

 

“Time to get up, omega. We need to leave now.”

 

You spit out dirt; your saliva tinted red with blood. Wildly glancing around, you see the easiest path to the ships has collapsed. Not that they would still be here, anyway. Fuck.  _ Fuck. _ Strong arms help you wobble to your feet as you do your best to come up with a contingency plan. Your eyes land on a com station, and though the actual internal coms aren’t working, maybe you could pull up a map. 

 

Sparks sting at your fingers as you jerry-rig the damn thing to work. With a swift kick to its side, a holographic map blinks into view, jittery and heavily pixelated. Down there, the tunnels that no one bothered to look through. Several of them seem like they lead to, well, somewhere. The outside, hopefully. You shakily pull out your datapad download the information, then turn back to Hux. 

 

He hasn’t tried to kill you, yet, so perhaps that is a sign that your interrogation tactics worked, even though you had far less time than you would have liked. However, dread creeps up your spine when you realize that he is staring awfully hard at your stomach, around your belly button, where your womb is. 

 

Shit. Suppressants. 

 

A loud crash resonates through what is left of the halls. You don’t think. You run and hope Hux and the cat know to follow you. Actually, secretly hoping that Hux won’t fucking follow you, but your leg aches with new pain and you know you aren’t going to be able to outrun an alpha, especially with heat coming on. You briefly debate surrendering to the First Order once you are out of the cave, maybe they will give suppressants to prisoners? More likely not, and you are not betting your livelihood on that. Any which way, you are going to be fucked. Literally. 

 

His scent is intoxicating, and directly behind you. You pull up the map to double check the directions you need to go and continue running. Mud, sweat, and blood fill your mouth as you trip over a root growing into the tunnel. He pulls you up with one hand, his cat in the other. The two of you keep going. The ground rattles with danger once more. 

 

A light shines through the tunnel, the sweet mercy of the outside just a breath away. Before you exit, you stop to glance at him. 

 

He’s still holding that cat in one arm. The light glares at his face, in the haze of your still booting-up eyes, it looks like a halo shimmers around his bright hair. Beautiful. 

 

And you are outside.

 

The suns blind you, an unforgiving landscape of smoke and stone and jungle expanding slowly materializing in your frame of vision. A distant bomb goes off, reminding you of the distant promise of death creeping ever closer. Fear spikes in your system, if there ever was a time for Hux to betray you, it is now, while you are barely standing from injuries, with his army just beyond the cliff you came from. 

 

Instead of waving down your enemies, he grasps your hand and descends into the forest, almost yanking your arm from its socket. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome to my fic. I'm branching out a little from my usual niche of the only two types of fics I will write. I love Alpha/Omega fics, and finally managed to hammer out an idea. If you are interested in non-con or dubious con, there will be none of that here. 
> 
> This is going to be an experiment for me. As this is all a different style I'm doing, commenting is strenuously encouraged. Please tell me what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

 

It takes you a moment to realize that he, is in fact, not actively trying to get you killed by flagging down a First Order ship. Your mind immediately imagines a worst-case scenario, where this strong, mostly uninjured alpha is dragging you down to gods know where to rape you to death, leaving your mangled body for the creatures prowling around. When he spins around to see if you are still there, however, you see something in his eyes in full force that you had only seen the barest hints of in the cell; fear. 

 

You can only imagine why a First Order officer is afraid of his own army, curiosity piqued as you risk a glance behind you. They don’t appear to see you or are in any particular hurry to hunt you down. You allow him to lead you through the jungle, certain that he has no idea where the two of you are going besides away from the explosions. 

 

When the terror pounding in your ears dulls to a faint roar, he stops, panting. The cat in his arms makes uncomfortable squacks, trying its absolute best to wriggle from his arm. He shifts his grip, releasing you to help realign that cat to a more comfortable position. 

 

You don’t take the opportunity to run. Uncrossing your arms in the hopes of being more approachable, you try to talk to him. “Those are your people back there.” 

 

Hux looks at you blankly; his face turned an unflattering shade of pink from the exertion. A side effect of unnaturally pale skin, you muse. “They won’t-” his voice trails off as he frowns, confused by how ready he is to spill his guts at you. 

 

Pavlov’s dogs,  _ hell yeah. _ You hide every sign of elation that you’ve managed to wriggle your way into his head. With those two words, he tells you all you need to know. He won’t be turning you in because whatever is going on in the First Order, he’s at risk as well. Instead of kicking his ass and running off into the woods, you take advantage of the situation. 

 

Indeed, the circumstances can be better. By the way your eyes keep training on his ass, your heat is beginning to creep up into your hormones. Either you die a painful death, probably while masturbating in an attempt to satiate your hunger for mating, or you can take advantage that of everyone you could have been stranded with, you are stranded with an Alpha. 

 

“Okay.” You keep your voice gentle. “Hey, we need to get deeper under some sort of cover if they try tracking down survivors.” 

 

He glares at you, disgust tingling in his face. Okay, so maybe you haven’t trained him as well as you thought. You try again, “I saw some caves along the edge of the beach cliffs when we first landed.” 

 

He looks over to the cliff you had just come from, then towards the opposite direction where the smell of salt was beginning to sting your heaving breaths. He turns back to you, straightening out his body to look down at you with that twitching mouth. 

 

“Do whatever you want.” Testing your boundaries, you start walking in that direction. It doesn’t take a master tracker to tell that he starts trailing behind you, with the loud crashes as he stomps unsurely through the unforgiving jungle. Sharp greens permeate your vision, everything outside so much more vibrant than the rusty insides of an old Rebellion Base. The soil begins thinning out into the sand, a coarse black that pleasantly shifts around your feet as you walk. 

 

The ocean is an opalescent blue, glittering in the bright, almost blue star this planet orbits. You want to strip your clothes and jump in, barely restraining yourself from doing so as you search for the volcanic tunnels that drill through the natural cliffside. The waves aren’t particularly brutal at the moment, though you need to keep an eye on them to track the tides. 

 

The orange tabby meows, supremely pissed. Hux tries to console her, holding her up and speaking in a soft voice that you would never have guessed in a million years he possesses. He catches you staring and gives you another glare. “I’m surprised your people didn’t eat her.” 

 

You take a deep breath because you are almost sure he offered you a night of steamy sex, but that doesn’t make sense because literally nothing he said had anything to do with that.  _ Focus. _

 

“The only reason I came back was because of that dumb cat.” You glance at the opening of one of the caves, the entrance almost too symmetrical to be naturally made. “Kort, you may have seen him, small kid, freckles? Got super attached to that little beast.” You frown at the carvings around the arched opening. Nothing that you can read, and too deteriorated to be something recent. You glance downward. Stairs. 

 

“Millicent is not a beast,” he grumbles, following you almost obediently, “she is a purebred Maine Coon.”

 

“I have no idea what you just said.” You pull the datapad out of your pocket to use as a flashlight. The steps are damp with water dripping from the ceiling. That is promising. Hopefully, there’s a freshwater spring you can drink. You take a cautious step downwards, surveying the ruins. The cavern opens up, light peeking in from the gaping holes along the ceiling. Ancient buildings stand in a circular formation around a large pit, easily spotted in the center. Everything is in various states of disarray, most of the building shapes crumbled and completely unlivable. The cavern looks like it opens up into a steep valley on the other side of the city, a cliff face carved into something big and important. 

 

Carefully stepping over the stones, you make your way towards the pit in the center. Large gray bricks that must have at one point been intricately carved stack up to your knees, the center of the cavity nothing more than ashy black dust. “Must be a firepit,” You muse aloud, looking towards what could either be a palace or temple of some kind, in the cliff. 

Distant thunder reminds you that you are hiding. “Well,” You say, turning back to your prisoner, “I think we can work with this.” 

 

“Speak for yourself.” 

 

You resist rolling your eyes to the ceiling. “Once your buddies are gone, we can return to the base and see about radioing for help. And supplies.” Something warm begins to heat your insides against your will. You can ignore it for now, but you know it’s only a matter of time before you can’t. 

 

Neither you nor Hux mention it, though you’re confident he knows. He can smell it off you, his mouth watering at the thought of tasting your skin. Millicent hisses, finally wriggling from his arms, running around him and you in circles before beginning to explore the ruins. 

 

Burning begins to leak into your veins. You stumble on a stone, gripping the edge of the fire pit to steady yourself. Sweat breaks on your brow, your heat hitting you properly hard and all at once. You numbly think that it must be the overuse of the represents in all your previous heats, and that is the last logical thought you will remember. 

 

You turn slowly to Hux. He’s already breathing heavily, eyes raking over your body like observing a meal. 

 

Your shirt is off as you take the one step towards him to close the distance between you. Your mouth is so close to his, but you don’t touch it. Not yet. 

 

“What if I don’t want to stoop down to your level?” He asks, ever the upper class as his rut begins. 

 

You hum, fiddling with his belt. “Then you run. You run fast and far and don’t stop until you know I’m dead.” 

 

“That desperate for me, aren’t you?” He has to keep his pride by acting like he couldn’t care less. “Then I suppose I can-”

 

You kiss him, slowly. Your hormone imbalance knocks his body chemicals into a rut faster than any other omega he has been around. Your tongue licks at his lips, moving up to his ear, fluttering kisses up his jawline. Inhaling his scent from his mating gland, you feel your arousal pooling from your hot core. His scent is strong, promising, and ready. 

 

You press your mouth against his again, a flurry of rage and lips and teeth. You tear at his shirt, unbuttoning the front to touch his skin. His hands find your ass, gripping it roughly and kneading the flesh. Those noises he makes in your mouth, those grunts and moans he growls when you grope his crotch make you all the wetter. You have him pinned to the side of the fire pit, grinding up against him in an attempt to alleviate your mating pains. 

 

Everything is suddenly hazy as you strip, struggling briefly with your shoes. You stand bare and naked before him, and even though you may be rebel scum, that doesn’t make him blind. A body is a body, and yours is beautiful. He touches the flesh along your hips, dipping down between your thighs, sliding a finger through your building slick. 

 

“So ready.” He makes slow circles around your clit. “So wet.” His eyes go dark, you smell the earthy musk of his own arousal enveloping the both of you. Your hips buck into his hand, everything so much more sensitive. He dips his index finger into your pussy, testing how ready you are for his knot. You whine, grinding into his hand as he gently pumps in and out, moving up to kiss him again. 

 

His tongue snakes past your lips, and you suck on it as he withdraws from your pussy to rub your clit with that finger wet with your arousal. His erection tents his pants, straining to get free. He repeats his last movement, slipping two fingers into your cunt and pumping in and out. You hiss, gyrating your hips for more friction. 

 

You are a slick, whimpering, hot mess. And you are his. 

 

He pulls his unbuckled belt off and kicks his shoes off with it. Without much ceremony, he grips your waist, sitting you on the wall and pulling you to his erection. He guides his cock to you, sliding into your heated and ready pussy. 

 

“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers digging into your skin. “Tight.” Your insides clamp around him as he begins to rut, unevenly at first because you are almost too much. It’s been years since he has fucked an omega in heat, and force almighty, he forgot how good it feels to be in a greedy cunt. 

 

Nails create little red crescents in his back as you clamp your hands around something for some semblance of control. You moan and keen, bucking into him as he moves in and out of your slick. He buries his face into your neck, sniffing your mating gland, licking to taste. You tangle your fingers into his hair and jerk his neck back, glaring at him with those hateful eyes. 

 

“I’ll kill you,” You whisper coldly, the last bit of your sanity still intact, emphasizing your displeasure by making long scratches down his back. 

 

He hisses, his thrusting stopped as his cum pools from his cock and into your cunt, thumbing your clit to encourage an orgasm out of you. He licks his lips, his hair still pulled back, leaving his neck exposed for you. His own mating gland is oh so tempting to you with that alpha male scent, but instead of biting it you lean up and kiss his collarbone, sucking a hickey onto his porcelain skin. His careful circles around your clit tip you over the edge, your body bucking against his knot as spasms of pleasure roll over you. 

 

You sit there as he pulls his knot from you, the two of you clinging to each other as though lovers. “Not bad.” You voice your opinion on the subject. “Not bad.” 

 

“So you enjoyed it, omega?” Hux asks, withdrawing from you. “You like it when an enemy officer fucks you?” 

 

Obviously, there is room for improvement. But, like you observed before, this isn’t the worst alpha you could be trapped with. And your heat has just begun. “Just as much as you liked it when I pulled your hair,” You fire back, not missing how his cum burst inside you soon after you did so. You stand, feet and ass covered with dust and dirt. 

 

It’s nowhere safe to go out yet, but you would kill for a bath before another wave of heat hit you. In this rare moment where you are cohesive, every second is precious. “Water.” You say, picking up your tunic and sliding it on. It’s long enough to cover yourself in case any stray stormtrooper comes pounding in. 

 

He looks frustrated, however, doesn’t voice any opposition. He gets on his own discarded clothes and helps you find the source of the trickling sound. Further into the cave, closer to the temple/palace, a stream is gurgling through a sentient-made channel that must be letting fresh water up from the mountain in. Not that you would trust to drink it right away. 

 

“We have to figure out how to boil it, just to be sure.” You press your fingers into the water. It’s about knee deep, and it looks clean to the naked eye. 

 

“How do you suppose we do that?”  He asks, resisting the urge to pin you to the floor and rut into your cunt again. 

 

“We get a shard of metal. I’m sure once they do a normal sweep of the base and don’t find anything, they’ll leave. We can probably go tomorrow evening to be safe, and until then I’m sure we’ll survive.” You trace the water along the edges your lips, taking a tentative taste. No salt, though there is a hint of a mineral you can’t place. Hopefully, it’s nothing more than traces of the stones the water batters against. 

 

You insides twist again. You slip your tunic off nonchalantly and point to the stone floor, slick from the mist rising from the spray of the currents. 

 

He arches an eyebrow,  and he tells himself that it is the scent of your arousal that made him comply so fast. His clothes are off, and he lays down against the absurdly smooth rocks, no extra pebbles to dent his skin. You sit on top of him, just in front of his already half-hard member, tracing the line of his collarbone and down the center of his chest with one finger. 

 

His chest presses up against yours as he sits up to press his lips against yours. You set your arms on his shoulders, tangling your fingers through his sandy orange locks. You hum with pleasure at his initiative, opening your mouth and letting his tongue attack you. 

 

Breaking the kiss, he quickly takes a playful nip on your chin. Your fingers tighten in his hair as a subtle warning. He presses his mouth in a few fluttery kisses along your jawline, stopping at your earlobe to suckle it. Your hips buck into his crotch, your knees pressed almost painfully into the stone floor as your spine tingles with electric nerves.

 

Your body sings as he trails the kisses back down your neck, raising one hand to play with your nipple as he sucks a hickey onto your skin. If he can’t claim you, he can mark you. To reassure himself that this is real, that this had happened once the heated rut stops. 

 

You prop yourself higher so he can lick your breasts with that filthy tongue, and he helps guide his cock into your throbbing cunt. He takes one of your nipples into his mouth, already pointing and sensitive from foreplay, running his tongue around in circles simply to tease you. You roll your hips against him, bobbing for that sweet friction inside you. 

 

His other arm wraps around your waist to draw you closer, pressing your vulnerable stomach up against his for the added skin on skin contact. He closes his eyes as you do all the work, moving and bucking against his waist until you move your hands from his hair to his neck, pulling his mouth against yours perhaps a little too roughly. 

 

Warm sperm pours into your cunt, his knot twitching pathetically inside you. His face is dazed, even with you almost strangling him he looks thoroughly satisfied with the fuck. You love how your fingers leave those pretty red marks on his too perfectly pale skin. 

 

That thumb finds your clit, his eyes stare into you as he is sure not to leave you without orgasming. Fast circles forgo his usual foreplay, getting straight to the point. You see stars as you rock against him, mewling pathetically as your nectar drips from between your legs. 

 

“That’s it, there you go.” He is suddenly gentle, the fingers that are damp with you go into his mouth. His pupils are larger than before, a classic sign of an alpha high on his omega. With his hair askew, mouth slightly open, and chest heaving with heavy breaths, you think to yourself that General Hux doesn’t look too terrible after proper fucking. Maybe even handsome. If he can get over his genocidal tendencies, you might even consider him somewhat attractive. 

 

Trying once more to nuzzle your mating gland, you are quick to snap out of your daze to pinch his side. “No.” 

 

He almost trembles, smelling your pheromones and how beautifully they tangle with his. He wants you more. You stare at him, absolute in your stance.

 

Slowly, he releases his embrace and moves back from you. 

 

Suddenly exhausted, you pull yourself from him to slip on your tunic, slightly damp from the creek’s mist. He gets dressed as well, the two of you very silent. 

 

“We need to figure out a place to sleep.” You stare over to a bridge a few paces away, leading to the dig-in part of the city on the side of the cliff. “That might be our best bet.”

 

“Fine.” Hux’s voice is clipped. Overly professional. 

 

You step forward, walking over the bridge and heading over to explore the rest of the ruins. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments and kudos! They are deeply appreciated. I'm very happy that this fic is appreciated by you readers!


	3. Chapter 3

You feel a chill rattling your bones. The sun has begun to set, and the breeze had started to pick up. The sharp edges of the rocks whistle quietly, a phantom song of those who were lost to time. The carved formations of whatever this place was are a maze of hallways you wouldn’t like to be lost in. Several stairs winding down and up, windows the only way to tell where you are without marking your way. Someplace locked away from the coming chill would be best to sleep, but however you pitch it, tonight is going to be rough. 

 

No matter what you do, Hux is close behind. You think it must be because of pheromones, or some primordial need to hover over his omega, and in your state of mind, you don’t think twice about it. The floor is dusty with what you hope is just dirt. Not what you would call a great place to fuck hard, however as previously stated, it is just going to have to do for now. 

 

You find a particular room, just inside, adjacent to the entryway you came in. Its door frame is rounded at the top, and facing away from the wind. With the rapidly dimming sky, you decide that this is going to be it. You sit down, testing the hard ground. Sand and pebbles stick to your skin, and you quietly lay down, balancing your head in the crook of your arm and curling up into a tight ball. 

 

Arms drape over you as Hux pulls you close to his body. With him holding you against his chest, you suddenly feel much warmer. Too exhausted to do much more, you close your eyes and slip into fitful sleep. You don’t sleep as you usually do, dead to the world and dreamless. You are half awake the entire night, on the brink of a panic attack with every noise you hear. Every skitter might be a small animal, but it might also be a stormtrooper. Every roar of the wind could just be the air moving, but it also could be an airship. 

 

Your soul nearly launches into the astral plane you hear soft footsteps pad into the room with you, followed by an indignant meow. You sit up so fast you become dizzy, coming face to face with Hux’s orange tabby. Millicent, you remember her name is. She butts her head against the still sleeping Hux, and when he doesn’t rouse to give her what you suppose would be her usual midnight affection, she comes to you in a huff. You give her an unenthusiastic pat on the head before laying back down, and she wanders to a nearby corner in what you assume is a sullen manner. Your heart still pounds in your throat even as the avian animals wake and begin chirping. 

 

You know that Hux is awake when his hand, which had been resting on your stomach all night, makes its way downwards towards your core. Your lungs take a sharp breath as his fingers find your bare clit, gently moving one of your legs forwards for easier access. 

 

As his index makes unbearable slow circles around your clit, you lash out and claw the ground for something, anything to anchor you to reality. Hux is slow and steady. Your hips buck and grind against his hand. 

 

He smiles into your hair at your impatience, dipping a finger into your wanting slit and massaging the sore folds. His mouth finds your neck, risking a kiss on the spot just above your mating gland. You swing your arm around, not striking him, but gripping his hair in a silent warning. He hisses in a mixture of pain and pleasure, something hardening and pressing into your ass. 

 

His lick flicks out and tastes the skin on your neck, leaning up and whispering something wonderfully obscene in your ear. You barely comprehend his words, lost in your heat, grinding against his hand as he adds another finger in your cunt. You whimper as you tip over the edge of your orgasm, your body rippling. 

 

“There you go,” Hux breathes into your neck, licking and kissing the edge of your mating gland. “Good girl. Cum for me.” 

 

Once your body no longer trembles, laying simply in a limp pile of flesh on the floor, he withdraws his fingers. Making sure you are watching him, he puts them into his mouth for a taste. “I should have done that sooner,” Hux states, mouth watering at your taste, “my apologies, love.” 

 

Your desire for water clears your head enough for you to stumble to your feet, your cum coating the insides of your thighs. Hux makes a grab for your legs, but you dodge. “Hungry.” Your throat is raw from dryness. 

 

The air is beginning to warm as the blue sun begins to rise over the azure ocean. The sound of the waves crashing on the beach dully roars in the background. You suppose that during the day, the town square would be bustling with enough activity to not even hear the distant sounds of the sea. You stagger towards the creek, throwing yourself into it. The water is frigid, efficiently rousing your from your heat haze and putting your senses into overdrive. You break to the surface, sputtering, the needles of ice poking at your skin. 

 

Ignoring your previous reservations, you spin to face upstream and open your mouth, gulping the fresh water. You keep at it until you feel sick, your belly full. When you turn, you see Hux with his legs sticking in the water. His pants are on, rolled up to his knees as he watches you swim with almost curiosity

 

You splash at him, before hauling yourself out from the water. Your toes and fingers are numb as you lay on the cold stone, staring up at an opening in the cavern wall. Steadily breathing, you turn to face him. Hux is cautious to keep his face expression neutral as he watches, though you can smell his arousal. Your tunic may have hidden most of your upper half while dry, but after the wet and frigid dip, you just took it leaves very little to the imagination. Your nipples pebble up, poking through the thin material, and the fabric clings to your body for dear life. 

 

“Tell me, General,” You say, turning your eyes back to the ceiling, “since you are the expert in the First Order. When is it best to return to the base in the search of food?” 

 

Hux is silent, then after a moment, states, “To be safe, around midday. Traps will be set, however, so caution must be prominent.” 

 

You hum in response. Your stomach gurgles with water, hungry for actual food, but you’ve gone longer without a meal before. The cold seeps into your blood, and you turn once more towards Hux as you debate on how to get warm. The freezing water has unclouded your mind, but very quickly you find yourself getting on your hands and knees, creeping towards your Alpha like a predator. He is still sitting on the edge of the creek, and turns his face towards you for a kiss. 

 

Your mouth is quick to open, and you slide your tongue across his lips. You move his hand from the ground onto your breast, inviting him to play with your nipple. You make a sweet little gasp into his mouth as he brushes his thumb across it, then gently pinching and tweaking it. He shifts to the side, lifting his legs from the creek to better accommodate your advancements. You shift up to a kneeling position, pressing your body against his as you deepen the kiss. His erection touches you in the stomach, the front of his clothes damp now thanks to you. 

 

Breaking the kiss to hastily tug at his trousers, you take a heavy moment to observe his cock, weeping with precum at the rut that you have set him in. It gives you some semblance of power, that it was you who did this to him. Now, you’re no stranger to nudity, and so under your careful eye, you are able to note that he is nicely endowed. He tries to open his mouth to speak, perhaps to say a sly quip that will ruin the mood. You quickly place a finger on those delicious lips and shush him, not even glancing at his face for a reaction. 

 

Slowly, almost reverently, you bend down and wrap your head around the tip. Hux’s sharp intake of breath is the only reaction his gives you. You gently let your tongue lick on the underside, your hands creeping up to grip his hips as you take all of him into your throat. Your hips sway with your mouth’s movement, your tongue flat as you can make it. You push yourself off of him with a flourish, releasing his cock from your mouth and looking at him with those eyes clouded with heat.  “Do you like that?” You have the gall to ask him. He has one hand to clutch your hair, the other bracing himself on the cold floor. You are a spiteful little omega, one that he would never choose on his own but can’t for the life of him decide to hate. 

 

Hux growls in response, too proud to ask you to continue. Your mouth twitches into a hazy smile, knowing that you’ll break him for sure in a matter of time. You lick the length of him, in no hurry, to please him, using your hands to rub and massage the areas where your mouth isn’t. You kiss the skin just to the side of his cock, right on the thigh, and check for his reaction to the tenderness you offer. He apparently isn’t used to it, unsure of what he feels. You like that. 

 

You suck a hickey onto his other thigh, then trail kisses back up to his member. You take one of his balls into his mouth and begin to suck, pumping his cock with your hands. Then you lean back up and take his head between your lips, running your tongue over the slit at the tip. His hips buck into you, ramming down your throat as he cums. You swallow some of it lazily, but don’t go out of your way to do an immaculate job. 

 

Once he is spent, you crawl back over him and press your mouth against his, shoving your tongue between his lips so he can taste what he gave you. You hum your satisfaction as he deepens the kiss, grinding your bare cunt against him to make him erect once more. Within seconds, he is half hard once more and spinning you around to take you from behind. 

 

Perhaps it is because he can’t stand to look at you, because you make him spill so easily when you look at him like you do, like he’s your toy. He has always thought of himself as a sadist, but perhaps that’s only a mutated part of what he really is. Maybe he’s always wanted to be hurt and dirtied. Or maybe it’s just your heat manipulating his mind. 

 

Your knees begin to ache against the hard stone, but you make no move as you feel the head of his cock tease the lips of your pussy. He holds your hips steady with one cold hand, guiding his cock with his other and entering into your sweet, wet folds. You gasp, your hands trembling as you brace yourself on your forearms. His skin slaps against yours as he ruts, a wet smacking sound that would be unmistakably fucking to anyone listening in. You have a hand over your mouth to hide those soft little gasps and moans, spitefully keeping your reaction from him. 

 

You are playing unfairly. Hux wants those dirty lips forming his name, wants to hear your desperate whines. Wants you to tell him how good he is, how nicely his cock fits into you but you do precisely none of those things. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he ruts more, determined for you to cum first this time. That cock he slides back and forth, the walls of your cunt folding around his cock so wonderfully he fears he may weep. 

 

A choking little gasp is the only thing he drags out of you as your body begins shaking with orgasm. Your insides squeeze together, closing around his cock until his thrusting becomes erratic with his own orgasm. He spills into you, taking care to gently rub the area of skin where he gripped until it was red. He tells you how nice you feel around his cock, pulling out and turning you around so he can kiss your mouth lazily. 

 

You pet his hair, your knees and arms aching even more than your pussy from the floor. When he kisses you, you kiss him back, letting him explore your mouth with his tongue. The two of you learn each other’s bodies will you wait for the sun to reach its peak in the sky, touching, licking, kissing until you are certain you may starve to death this way. 

 

“We need to start scavenging.” You are no longer cold, not when the sun is glaring down at you from the opening overhead. You wonder if it’s summer, or if the weather here is always like this. It’s not hot when you are sitting on the cool stones with a frigid creek running past, but out in the sun for extended periods of time may prove dangerous. 

 

Hux looks up at you, as you have long since pinned him beneath you during your romp, and nods sharply. You find your clothes over where you threw them first, by the firepit, and you slip them on. The datapad you managed to snag yesterday lays forgotten in the sand. Your tunic is still damp, but once you climb back up to the steps of the exit, you are glad. Yesterday you never noticed how warm it is, or maybe yesterday was just cooler? You hold your hand over your face and look up at the cloudless sky. 

 

The cliffs that you had previously come from are easy to spot. Not a single First Order ship can be seen, but even so, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be careful. You begin to make your way up the slope, hearing your ginger shadow follow you close behind. It takes far more time to climb up to the jungle than it took running down while high on adrenaline, and dusk had begun to kiss the sky purple as soon as you manage your way to a familiar tunnel poking out from the ground. 

 

You turn to Hux, giving him a victorious smile, before turning back to the half-collapsed rubble that was once your safe haven. You wonder if in millennia, like the city you had found, people will wander the ruins and wonder what it once was. Not knowing the significance of the Resistance, and the Rebellion before that. If it will be lost in history as the people who built the caverns are.

 

Slowly, checking for traps, you enter the tunnel. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the break! The beginning of April hit me like a truck of bricks.


	4. Chapter 4

You carefully step over a tripwire, gesturing for Hux to do that same. Careful and steady does the trick, this certainly isn’t the first time you’ve had to dodge First Order trap shit, and you would bet money it won’t be the last. Though excellently hidden, they lack imagination. It’s the same pattern over and over, the rocks littered to the side hold hidden sensors, the control panel that seems only moderately damaged is pulsing red with malware, the perfectly good food pouches are poisoned with something that’ll fuck you up something awful.

 

You are thinking far more clearly today than yesterday, and with every hunger pain, you think you know why. Your body needs to eat and to do so, it needs your hormones to understand it is feed or die today. It’s the kind of hunger you remember that sharpens your senses to the point of saving your life once or twice. And even though today will mark the official second day of your heat, you don’t feel…. that horny. Well, every time you look at Hux, you want to climb that alpha like a tree but you aren’t currently doing it so that must count for something.

 

Hux seems to now everything as thoroughly as you, probably since he is a First Order officer. You keep forgetting that. Especially when your legs are spread and he’s sobbing your name into your neck. Your mouth waters as you think of his face planted between your thighs, which, now that you think about it, is a thing that needs to happen. You hastily glance around for a platform to brace on.

 

Walking over and sitting on the least disgusting table you spy while shimmying your pants off as you go, you look at him expectantly. “Come here.”

 

Hux does, hair disheveled from the last fucking still. You’re mildly surprised that he hasn’t bothered smoothing it out yet, as he tends to be very vain about his appearance. You like that look, still dirty from your rampant touches. He leans down to brush his lips against yours, but you reach up to snag those beautiful ginger locks, pulling him down to his knees.

 

“We’ll both get dirty on this.” Protests without any motivation leave his lips, his hands already working to remove your underwear. You like him like this, kneeling in subjugation, looking up at you with those pretty steel eyes, the skin under them dark with exhaustion.

 

You wrap your fingers around his neck, not squeezing. “Then I suppose you’ll just have to bathe me, won’t you?”

 

Hux’s lips are already on your sweet cunt in a gentle, experimental kiss. You sigh with a filthy kind of relief, your legs spreading even further for him. Fingers dig into your thighs as he licks, his body shuddering with how good you taste. He erratically tries to pace himself as your arousal drips onto his tongue, but having gone so long without the sweet taste of an omega has turned him into something that barely resembles all the sophistication he thought he possesses.

 

Those ginger locks bob as he licks up and down between your thighs, using his fingers to keep your skin open and spread so he can see and pleasure every square inch. His tongue makes infuriatingly blissful circles around your quivering slit, never quite touching it. You have to brace your hands on the table to as he starts giving your clit gentle kisses, sucking and even nibbling. The slickness soon becomes a waterfall for him to drink like nectar. The determination he possesses to not let one drop of your arousal go anywhere but his eager mouth is admirable in some aspects. He tilts your waist up slightly, his tongue sliding into your pussy in one long lick, your mouth watering as his desperation becomes more and more apparent.

 

Those eyes that you remember seeing in all those propaganda holovids, always clear and icy, cold and untouchable, are now almost hazed over with lust for you. This man who walked among gods has his face buried between your legs because he fucks and pisses and eats like any other person. You manage to nourish a slice of coherent thought with that revelation, the last before the licking becomes too much and you are pushed over the edge of an orgasm.

 

Your traitorous body actually whimpers, making soft little cries of pleasure because he doesn’t fucking stop lapping at your cunt like a starving man. He drinks your cum like a delicacy, sucking at your clit and licking at your thighs for any extra he can get. His tongue dips into your pulsing slit for that sweetness he craves, eyes almost rolling to the back of his head from how good it tastes, from how good you taste.

 

Those perfectly sculpted lips have the gall to smirk at you when he draws back from your shivering mass. You think that in his head, you’ve lost some unknown battle he had been waging against you. That fact immediately pisses you the fuck off, of course, so you lean up and grab his collar. Your teeth almost bruise in the unforgiving kiss you give him, trying to put him back in his place with your tongue. You taste yourself on his lips, and its so utterly wrong that it's right and your arousal begins to heat your core once more.

 

“Get on your back.” Your whisper is full of sexual frustration, more than should be possible given the fact you just came.

 

As before, he obeys you without question. It makes you all the wetter.

 

You straddle the tent in his pants, looking at him with no mercy in your gaze. The buttons of his shirt are systematically opened, and you move down to his collarbone. A sharp intake of breath is all he gives you, his own nipples hardening in the cooling air. You move to lick one the way he licked yours, running your tongue around the peak and listening to the way his lungs hitch.

 

You sit back up and take your shirt off, grabbing his hand and putting it on your still clothed breast. “Your hand is on my tit,” you say calmly, cocking your head.

 

“Yes... I can see that.” His thumb traces over your own nipple, his mouth hanging open again as though trying to beg you for something, anything.  

 

Bending over, you let your mouth trace over his jawline. Little kisses pepper his eyes, his mouth, his nose, his cheeks. You feel like you have to somehow apologize for how you’re about to treat him, how you’re about to turn this big bad alpha into your bitch.

 

Ugh, you’re wet just thinking about it.

 

You buck your hips, feeling how his erection strains for you. Your cunt is bare, pressed against his trousers and leaving your arousal all over the crotch area. You begin moving back and forth, nipping at his chin and neck as you do so. He tries to reach down to undo his pants, but you don’t make it easy on him.

 

Hux’s hands reach down to your clit, giving it a few lazy circles before unzipping his crotch. You allow that, though quickly stopping his hand from doing anything further. Slowly, you begin grinding against him, his still clothed erection giving your wetness precisely what it needs at the moment.

 

Those hands move to grip your hips next, knuckles still bloody and splotches of dust and grit covering where he accidentally brushed up against the wall. Your shirt hikes up so he can hold your bare skin, squeezing and rubbing. You smile down on him, your enemy trapped between your legs, without an ounce of mercy in your soul. You gyrate your sopping pussy onto his pants but don’t moan, because you don’t want him to know how good he makes you feel.

 

You see how his eyes darken when you sharply gasp, you love how his fingers tighten around you as you buck. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you cum, body struggling to keep up the pace in ecstasy. You are hot and hold at the same time, spirals of pleasure causing even your fingertips to tingle as you run them through your hair.

 

When you look back down at Hux, he looks like he may just rip his crotch open through pulsing erection and force of will. Your grab his wrists from your body and pin them over his head, licking and gently biting his ear. You keep your waist moving on his erection, keep going until his back arches and you feel his cum mixing with yours in the fabric.

 

Before he can even process what just happened, you tear at the fabric of his crotch, unzipping and removing it, still clumsy from your orgasm. Your fingers wrap around his now-limp cock and then begin to gently pump it back to stiffness.

 

He’s sitting up now, watching you with weary eyes. He hasn’t voiced anything yet, mostly because you’re moving too fast for him in his rut-addled mind to do so yet.

 

And then you leave him there.

 

He watches you leave and for a moment can’t even understand what just happened. Then the indignant anger starts. How- how dare you? He’s- he doesn’t even know how to form a coherent thought to be mad. His rut is still running through his system and god- god fucking dammit he needs to fuck or fight or something to get his body to stop burning.

 

Just to be sure, he checks to see if you are still there. You aren’t, of course, you little…

 

He touches himself, his throbbing erection, and his mind is suddenly empty. He tries to imagine that it’s you who’s feeling him. His body isn’t fooled, of course, but it’s the only way he can make himself sentient again.

 

\----

 

“I am digging the pudding.” You shove another spoonful in your mouth, already on your second container after quickly inhaling the first. Though you grew up on resistance and stolen first order rations (maybe a couple of expired Empire rations when you were desperate in an old base like this), they always taste so delicious after a day or two of not eating anything at all. Almost makes up for the strange bitter aftertaste the sweet desserts usually carry.

 

“I can tell.” Hux gives you one of his judging looks, but wisely doesn’t say anything about the way you eat. Or how much you’ve eaten. Or mention how you sprawl on the chair, both legs up on the table. It’s oddly arousing, your confidence in this situation. Or at least the air you put around yourself, most likely the best defense you have. You’ve become something like a curiosity he wants to figure out, you and you the way you push him hard, then pull him back.

 

He hates how he feels relaxed around you, because he knows that you used some Pavlov-esque technique to make it so. The psyche is easily tricked into a sense of security, especially when around familiar things. When he was first captured, you quickly made yourself familiar by staying in his cell for hours at a time. He tells himself that’s the only reason you put him into heat so readily.

 

Well, you’ve gotten under his skin, so Hux thinks it’s fair that he gets under yours.

 

He thoughts he had succeeded when he pulled those sweet little cries from you earlier, but you quickly caught on to his purpose and game when his face traitorously gave it away. A part of him wants to take you into his arms and whisper that it isn’t what you thought it was, but those thoughts are dismissed as weakness. Probably stemming from your little scheme, like a weed.

 

The small kettle hisses as the battery-powered hot pad boils the water inside. Hux lifts the kettle up and pours the water into one of the disgusting ready-to-make bowls of freeze-dried noodles, wincing at just the smell wafting up. He once prided himself on never eating these kinds of lower-class foods, but after going quite a few days without a meal has worked up enough of an appetite that he thinks he can swallow it down without vomiting.

 

The noodles and powdered broth steams as he stirs it with his spork, though his eyes aren’t on the sad dried vegetables in the packet, but on you. You and the way you eat that stupid pudding.

 

The first thing you did when you found the food storage was to throw down your jacket and immediately devour the first ready-to-eat thing you could find, not even bothering to find a utensil but using… _using your fingers_ to scoop it up. If Hux was a lesser man he might have fainted at the pure carnal instinct you show as you slurp it up like there is no tomorrow.

 

A part of him wishes it was his cock you were enthusiastically licking, and not your fingers.

 

He eats like a princess, or how you would imagine a stereotypical princess to eat. Daintily. Carefully. You want to take some pudding, smear it over his chest, and lick it off, but you’ve had enough sex for the morning so your self control is high enough to not do that.

 

Well, at the moment anyway.

 

After you eat, you find a stray duffel bag and begin to fill it with food and water purifying tablets. Once you are done with the kitchen (you’ll be back later anyway), you go back to your room to find the two outfits you own. And because your team left in such a haste, you find some other articles of clothing that can be added to your collection, and a few things for Hux as well.

 

You return to the kitchen where he is. “I’m leaving.”

 

“I see that.” Is the only response you get.

 

“Bye.”

 

He doesn’t answer.

 

The cave was the most strategic place to be, as it was right next to a freshwater source, close enough to the base to know when someone is looking through it and far enough away to hide if those people aren’t friendly. As you hike, you think about what a bullshit situation this is.

 

Once you get to the cave, you let your self-wallowing diminish as you begin to tidy up your little cavern-room. As you do so, you smell the lingering scent of Hux and sex and it begins to make you wet again. You bite your lip and press against your stomach, cursing yourself and your body. Maybe if you hadn’t eaten so much you wouldn’t feel like this, all needy for your alpha’s-

 

You punch yourself, letting the pain wash away that feeling. No. No, no, nada, nope, nopedy no no no. That was an unacceptable train of thought that you would not be thinking again. You need to lay down and…. not think about that.

 

In your haste to depart from the base, you forgot bed things. Blankets. Pillows. Maybe one of those metal slabs you’re supposed to call a bed, anything to protect you from this dusty floor. All you have in a coat that falls down to your waist, so you spread it out and lay on it.

 

Now that you’re full of food, your body has kicked back into sex or die mode. The slickness becomes impossible to ignore, you think that you’re actually getting a fever. Your walking dildo hasn’t returned so now it’s up to alleviate your discomfort. You know it’s futile but still, you are going to try.

 

You take your pants off and decide, fuck it, naked is the way to go. The air is cool on your body, soothing the heat that seems to be boiling in your core. You place a finger on your clit and begin to make slow, sensual circles. And at first, your body is into it. Your cunt sings as you dip your fingers into the throbbing slit.

 

Using your other hand, you begin to knead one of your breasts, playing with your nipple. Your slickness becomes even wetter as you gently press another finger into your hot, needy cunt. Your movements become faster and faster because fuck, you need this, you need to cum. Your fingers work their damndest to feel like a cock as they slide in and out, in and out, and you whine and moan to try and trick yourself into enjoying it further.

 

All at once everything is quiet because you smell him. Instantly your body stops recognizing your strokes, because the thing it needs is nearby and it wants him it wants him it wants him

 

A frustrated scream builds in your chest, but you refuse to release it. You should be humiliated like this, legs spread wide, fingers massaging your inner core, the wet noises lewd and _mouthwatering_ to hear. But you aren’t, because you’re desperate. You’re desperate but you refuse to admit it, refuse to ask him to fuck you into next week.

 

He’s watching. You know. He knows you know, and oh, the irony of this situation is so, so sweet. Hux wants to ask you something snide, he wants to be a smug bastard and watch you struggle to please yourself and ultimately fail. Something else inside him is stronger, a deeper instinct left over from a primordial time that he couldn’t ignore if he tried. Instead he gets out the blankets he packed and begins to arrange them in something like a bed. The blankets are barely anything more than tweed sheets, itchy but effectively warm.

 

You keep your eyes shut tight, mouthing voiceless whimpers as you insert another finger into your pussy. His scent is so close to you, and you are so, so close to the breaking point. So close. Your tongue is about to form the word _please, please,_ but you don’t have to because he’s there. He’s lifting you up and setting you on the blankets, and when you open your eyes there’s a kind of gentleness on his features that are foreign to you. He whispers something to you- you don’t quite catch it but his voice is soothing- and brushes some hair away from your face.

 

Normally if this were to happen you would feel a spike of fear at this sudden turn of affection, but his fingers find your clit and oh, _oh,_ your entire body relaxes and you feel a shudder of pleasure run through your nerves.

 

Hux’s body is bare and pressed against yours, his weight deliciously calming. Every cell yearns to be up against him, and so you keen and arch your back for more. Your throat even gives a little whine, one that will be embarrassing to think about later.

 

By the way he lights up at your noise, he is utterly elated and you know you lost again. But he starts making those circles around your slit and everything is gone but him, him and his stupid, alpha pheromones. His lips press against yours in an impossibly chaste kiss, given the situation, and he manages to shift your legs around so that he’s at your entrance, and then he’s inside you and you gasp and let yourself moan at how good he feels.

 

He loves it. Your breathy whines send blood straight to his cock, and he is going to show you how good he can make you feel. He is going to make you want him the way you’ve made him want you.

 

You are going to be screaming his name tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, everyone, I'm back from the dead! Hope you enjoy this chapter, it took a few days and a few more bottles of wine to complete.


	5. Chapter 5

He starts out so torturously slow. A soft little kiss on the edge of your collarbone, followed by his breath tickling your neck as he gently bites your earlobe. His cock still throbs inside of you, but he refuses to move it and give you the friction you so desperately need.

 

He wants to ravish you, head to toe, and leave you wanting more.

 

So he does not thrust, he instead focuses on your upper body. Your mating gland sings for him, but he refuses to acknowledge it in fear of your retribution. You seem to be the type who would die merely to spite him.

 

He licks the shell of your earlobe, whispering something positively filthy to you. It has the desired effect, your breath shudders with desire and your sweet cunt tightens around his cock in anticipation. His smirk grows, though he’s quick to wipe it off his face before you wipe it off for him. His cock pulls out, and you look at him with indignant anger. He places a finger on your lips, slick with your arousal still, and beckons you gently to wait. Let him take his time.

 

You allow it by not ripping his manhood off.

 

Hux is startled by how insufficiently he understands your body. The number of people he has fucked without thought he’d rather not admit, especially to you. But they had all just been bodies at the time, he never quite considered them being more than something to warm his bed. You, however, _you_ with your mischievous eyes and your knowing smile and hair that does _that,_ goddamn.

 

God. _Damn._

 

The way he approaches this problem is the same way he does- did- when he was an officer of the First Order. Identify. Analyze. Implement solution. Observe success of solution and refine methods as needed.

 

He knows the problem already, bringing you an amount of pleasure you have never experienced before in your life. To analyze the situation would require him to examine your body, which he is sure you have no qualms about.

 

An excellent place to start is your breasts, he decides. He bends over to your right nipple and takes it into your mouth. Observing you, he flicks his tongue out and runs it over and around in a clockwise direction. His mouth is deliciously warm in contrast to the cold air, and his teeth brush against the sensitive skin just so. He carefully takes the measure of your writhing and cries, before then moves on to the other breast.

 

You react equally aroused and responsive on both breasts.

 

Impatient with the foreplay, your fingers reach and grasp for his cock, and you whine, mindlessly, without a thought of decency as you run your fingers over it, mouth watering at how perfect he is for you, how his size fits inside you like a glove. You whine at him, sounds without syllables but perfectly understandable.

 

As tempting as it is to plunge himself within you and to lose himself in your sweet, willing tightness, Hux maintains control of himself. He moves your hands away, pinning them above your head. You keen and arch your back, wrapping your legs around his waist and whimpering. He decides to simply grind against for now. Torturously, he moves his hips up and down, stimulating your clit just enough to leave you wanting more.

 

He attacks your mouth again, thrusting his tongue against yours in a way that can only be described as victorious. His tongue learns your mouth, taking note of what makes your breath hitch, what makes you move against him even more desperately. He manages to hold both of your wrists down with one hand- though he knows that you have merely resigned to having your arms above you. Otherwise, they would easily break free. He moves the other down to where the junction between your thighs rubs against his crotch.

 

When you realize what he means to do, your body shifts so that his fingers have easy access to your pussy. His thumb makes slow circles as he slowly strokes the lips surrounding your mound. You are positively dripping, he realizes. His mouth waters and he decides quickly that using only his fingers simply will not do.

 

Too quick for you to try anything else, he slithers down your naked body, using his finger to open your quivering cunt. He observes your layers, makes notes of the anatomy layout of your clit.

 

You sit up, trying to see where he is taking this, but his mouth forms a smile as he pushes you back down. “Patience,” he chastises, the first words he’s spoken to you all evening. He pushes his nose into your quivering slit and breathes, taking in your scent.

 

Saliva fills his mouth at the thought of tasting you. Your hormones beckon him, beg him to take you. Your soft cries do the same. Your fingers are shaking as they tangle in his ginger hair, trying to urge him forward, and who is he to deny you? You, who isn’t afraid to take what you want if you believe you are deserving of it. You, whose Omega hormones sing for him to have you. You, who he is chagrin to admit, has him wrapped around your very finger.

 

He licks one strip, from base to top of your cunt, just to taste. His entire body shudders. Your nectar is almost better than last time, with your sweet body splayed out and desperate for him. He goes down slow and gentle, refusing to succumb to desperation like the previous time. He wants to hear those pretty words from your lips, those words that will send even more blood straight to his cock.

 

But you say nothing, even when he purposefully misses your clit every time he licks your delicate skin. He knows that he will only get away with torturing you as long as you will allow, and sure enough, your grip on his hair tightens when he tries to pull away.

 

Glad that you can’t see the smile he hides between your legs, he continues, moving his tongue clockwise on your clit. He flicks it back and forth, even going so far as to nip the edge of your pussy lips to tease a reaction out of you. Arousal and hormones respond to him as you cry and moan, but you still don’t say those pretty words he wants to hear.

 

He knows that you won’t cum until he’s knotting into you. This was all a simple show of foreplay, a kind of formality, if you will. His mouth is dripping with your arousal, and when he climbs back over your body, you can smell your scent on him. It’s satisfying.

 

“Say my name.” His fingers tempt your begging slit. “Say my name, and you will know nothing else but me.”

 

You want him in you. You want this alpha to erase everything around you until it’s just you and him and the heat that’s taken over your mind. But through the haze of sex and lust, you manage to bring out your last streak of stubbornness into play.

 

“Say mine first.”

 

Hux stares into your eyes, into your soul. As you jut your chin out and glare at him evenly with those hazed over eyes, he realizes that he never said your name aloud, not once while he knew you. Has he even thought of you as something other than ‘that girl’ or ‘the resistance agent’ or 'rebel scum' if he's feeling angry? You’ve said his surname several times before. It would roll off your lips like honey, even before your hormones dug their claws into his brain and made everything you do somewhat acceptable.

 

Your name’s syllables are foreign on his tongue, and so he sounds them out carefully. You’ve never formally introduced yourself, but he remembers people calling for you outside of his cell. Hux makes a habit of never forgetting names or faces, especially if he ever returns in a position where he can exact revenge. The only revenge now, though, is to make you realize how desperately you need him in your life. He arches an eyebrow, before moving to your neck, opposite of your mating gland. His teeth experiment with your delicate skin there, alternating between kissing and nipping.

 

He repeats your name like a prayer, over and over again against your ear. Shivers run through your body as he licks the edge of your earlobe, and with your next exhale, you breathe his name, too quiet for anyone but him to hear. “Hux.”

 

His body freezes as he takes it in. He suddenly realized that in this situation, naked against a rutting omega who works for the same resistance that captured him soon after being, well, he doesn’t wish to think about it, stuck on a planet that’s been long abandoned by all sides of civilization, in a cave dwelling, perhaps it would be best if you didn’t invoke his family name.

 

“Armitage.” His correction isn’t snide, neither is it particularly friendly. This is for his comfort, not for yours.

.

You look at him with pursed lips, mulling it over, acting as though you aren’t a simpering little quim who has been begging for his cock. “Armitage,” you try, frowning at the stuffiness the name puts in your mouth. “Armitage.”

 

Your fingers brush against his lips, and you shake your head ever so slightly as if to say, that won’t do. “Arm.. itage,” you draw out his name slowly, tongue running over your lips as you think. “Armi… tage.” You smile grows. “Taj.”

 

He opens his mouth on instinct to protest, just because nicknames would never be accepted in his family, but stops. This is nowhere near his family and the way you roll his new name off your mouth… He decides to make you whimper is as much as possible. He wants to hear every way he can make you say it; breath whines, soft gasps, little cries, screams as he cums inside you….

 

Your name escapes his lips again instead, a new intensity taking over his body.

 

“Taj,” You whisper in response, one hand tangling in his hair as he kisses you, other kneading his ass. Your legs spread open further, and you give him the dirtiest, most inviting look you can muster. “Knot me, Taj.”

 

Who can say no to a demand like that? Not Hux, that is for certain. Carefully, he adjusts one of your legs so that he can easily see, and aligns his cock with your weeping cunt. He plunges inside of you, filling you to the brim, facing your eyes so you can’t pretend someone else if fucking you.

 

You wrap your arms around him because there are no games tonight. There’s you, there’s Hux, and there’s his thick cock inside you that you need, that you want, that you can’t live without. You press your chest up against his, and your breasts brush against his pecs, both of your respective nipples glass hard and needy. You wonder briefly if men like having their tits sucked as much as women, but oh, he starts moving inside of you and everything in your brain vanishes.

 

It’s just you and him, two bodies in their own shared infinity. He rocks against your skin, balancing his front on his arms so he can stare into your eyes as he fucks you.

 

He kisses your mouth, his thrusts steady and wanting, and you slowly melt under his tongue. Your orgasm is close, you can feel it, and you whisper his new name to encourage him to move faster. He nuzzles at your neck, inhaling your pheromones like a suffocating man who desperately needs to breathe. You want it. You need it. You grip his neck with your fingers, and you hold him there, begging him silently to take you. You need to feel his teeth sink into your throat, claiming you as his, _his._

 

He hovers over your mating gland, mouth watering as he imagines in, marking you, seeing his bite mark on your neck when he wakes up. The sadist in him wants to take now and leave and you eternally regretting it, always his with no alternative. Even in his hazy state, though, he knows you will kill him the moment you come to your senses. The thought of you sitting atop him, squeezing his neck until the light leaves his eyes does have some kind of sick appeal. Even so, he decides on an alternative. He manages to find space between your bodies for his hand so he can start rubbing your clit alongside his cock. That is all it takes, you are over a place of no return.

 

Your body shakes, and you scream, scream, as everything burns out and your body knows pleasure. You rock, you sob, you hold Hux’s body close, and you whisper _Taj, Taj, Taj,_ over and over as though it is your only connection to sanity.

 

His cum fills you, hot and needy. If you hadn’t been implanted with a birth control device, the sperm would have overwhelmed your womb with his babies. At the moment, you almost drool at the idea.

 

The both of you are spent, you especially. He lays you down in the nest he’s made, and takes out a rag and bowl he had set out. He dips the cloth in the freezing water from the stream outside and begins cleaning your legs. You do nothing, and almost don’t even notice him shifting you to a position easier for him to gently scrub you clean.

 

When he’s satisfied with his work, he can barely see in front of him from the lack of light. The sun had long sunk over the horizon, and this is the time when the two intelligent bipedal mammals on this planet need their sleep. Hux crawls over you, arms protectively draping across your form. His smell lingers inside of you still, and he feels proud.

 

He kisses the back of your neck, his body fitting so seamlessly against his it’s as though the two of you were meant for each other. You fall asleep in his arms quickly, so high on the orgasm that there’s no room inside you to fret over the noises of the night.

 

And so Hux is alone with his thoughts.

 

You make love violently and without apology. You take your pleasure and can care less about his wants and desires… He wonders what your previous experiences with sex have been like. It’s astounding how little he knows you, after all this time together. Well, you and he have only been stranded alone on this planet for a few days, but you had been visiting his cell long before that.  Even so, the idea of anyone else laying their hands on you, ravishing you?

 

His arms tighten around your body. You make a little sigh and snuggle closer to him for warmth.

 

You are indeed an enigma, unlike so many other omegas he’s met before you. Of course, most omegas he has met were offspring of powerful men who wanted to create an alliance via mating. He tries to remember if he ever saw you among the many faces of those introduced to him, but he does not. Inhaling your scent, he tries to remember if he ever smelled you in the sea of faces thrown his way, but nothing.

 

Already omegas aren’t so numerous, so the fact he has never seen your face, introduced or on a wanted poster, is off-putting. You were somehow off the grid, protected by the shadow of the Resistance.

 

He falls asleep pondering, arms wrapped around you. Even if somehow the both of you are found tomorrow, he would refuse to let you go. You are his, now. And he takes care of what is his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from the dead! May-August has been a super busy time for me, but now I hope to dedicate more time to my writing. Thank you all for sticking around! I'll try to update somewhat (?) regularly, and see what kind of schedule I can do so that you all hold me accountable for slacking off.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s the smell of food that puts you at ease. 

 

The space between your legs is a beautiful blend of sore and relaxed, a sign of sex that was just rough enough to be satisfying without getting ugly. You trace the edge of your lips, memories of last night sharpening as you think.

 

Underneath the blankets, you are completely naked. Hickeys dot your chest, some more prominent than others. Your legs have some scratches on them, little crescents where someone dug their nails into your skin in ecstasy. Everything hurts in a sweet, delicious way that only great sex can make you feel. Force, you can count on your fingers the number of times you have ever felt this satisfied.

 

You sit up, fear thrumming through your body as your hand flies up to your neck, probing for pain or bite marks that would tell of a claiming. There is nothing, not even a bruise swelling on your skin. You are still unmarked. That doesn’t quite mean you relax, however. 

 

He is sitting on the far edge of the room, shirt partially unbuttoned to reveal his chest, one hand resting on his knee. Hux is cooking something on a hot pad he must have brought back with him the day before, poking at it absentmindedly as he observes you carefully. The food sizzles, the smell wafting over to your nose and causing your mouth to water. He does not say anything, though he can tell what you are thinking. 

 

You don’t know what to do. 

 

_ This changes nothing.  _

 

_ This changes everything. _

 

Feelings huddle in your chest, confusing and manipulating. There is no motivation to thank him, after all, he didn’t rape you and take you as a mate unwillingly, and things like not committing horrible crimes should not get someone brownie points. There is no need to address it. However, there is also numb relief he didn’t force you, because as always, you can never tell with the alpha males. They can pretend to act all sweet and loving, and then turn around and betray you at your most vulnerable. 

 

You have seen it before. Oh, gods, stars, everything that might watch you, you have seen it too many times. You have seen in the marketplace, dull eyes, collars around their necks as they mechanically go about their day. You have seen the auctions, both in the dirtiest of backwater slums and in the decorated banquet halls of millionaires. The funerals of omegas whose owners could not be bothered by their heat. You made yourself watch them every chance you got, every single moment of those memories burned,  _ engraved _ into your mind. 

 

Alphas may whisper beautiful things in your ear, promise you every star in the galaxy, but once they claim you as theirs, it’s all over. You belong to someone, like a thing. An object. And toys, while kept shiny and on display for a time, will always be thrown away when a prettier, better model appears. 

 

Your mother suffers this curse. And she made every sacrifice to see that you would never have to share her experiences too. 

 

Tucking your knees under your chin, you decide that there is no need for you to speak at all. An awkward silence descends over the both of you, as though this situation was not a matter of life and death, but a somewhat regrettable one night stand. While neither of you speak, you take a minute to look at the changes he made to your room.

 

The bed is made of simple blankets, already half covered in dust. You can already tell it is going to be a nightmare to beat it out of them. Powdered eggs are frying in the pan, a bottle of water to the side to rehydrate them. Your stomach growls from hunger, still sensitive over not eating for the first two days of your arrival. While you observe, though you avoid making eye contact with him, you can feel him watching you like a hawk. 

 

When breakfast is cooked, he hands you a tin plate full of food. You look at him suspiciously and try to take the plate. His grip is steady, and he arches his eyebrows. 

 

“Thank you.” You manage to muster some begrudging manners. 

 

He doesn’t release the plate. When you look at him, mouth small and twisted with impatience that’s growing at an exponential rate, he offers, “Thank you… who?” 

 

You want to take out his eyes. “Thank you, Hux.”

 

He still won’t let go. His mouth is twitching, either fighting a smile or frown. 

 

“Thank you, Armitage?” You try again. 

 

Nothing.

 

You grit your teeth, fingers beginning to tremble slightly as you think of the words you cried in his ear when his cock was thrusting into you. “Thank you… Taj.” You mutter the last part, almost too quiet for him to hear. 

 

He lets go, turning around so you can’t see him smile as he makes his own plate. 

 

The worst of your heat is gone, you can tell by how clear your mind is. You look at the food balanced on your lap. Even so… It would be best to keep yourself from being in the same position as you were in last night ever again. What if he had gotten your mating gland? Bile rises in your throat, imagining yourself chained to him as a sex slave, body near naked for male alpha consumption. Not a person, but a commodity to be bought and sold. That could have happened while you were out of control, head not clear enough to stop him.

 

You slide your plate onto the floor. “I’m not hungry.” 

 

“Aren’t you.” Hux looks you over, mouth in a thin line. His eyes trace the contours of your body, as though remembering the way you laid for him last night, greedy and bare. 

 

"No." You get up and find your clothes. There is no need for a bra, you decide as you slip on your tunic. Once you are satisfied with the lack of nudity, you leave the room, walking through the ruins to escape his roaming eyes. 

 

The forest is uncomfortably humid, so you find yourself walking along the beach where the breeze makes everything better. You are barefoot, and the sand burns the soles of your feet if you aren’t in the area where the waves crash around your ankles ever so often. It’s not so windy, but even the soft breeze feels perfect against your skin, last night’s sweat still unwashed.

 

Your stomach growls. Your mind grows sharper as hunger begins to manifest itself through pain. You have never bothered thinking about this planet, never quiet wondered what special forces of nature are out to get you on it. 

 

Well, you’ve got an ocean. Large bodies of water can mean tsunamis and dangerous tides. Also large, dangerous aquatic critters that would love nothing more than to make you their next meal. You are thinking all of this as you strip down naked, and contemplating your watery death even more as you wade waist deep into the salty water. 

 

You plug your nose and submerge, letting the inviting roar of the sea wash over your body, clearing away the sins of last night. You hold your breath for as long as you can, letting your lungs burn a little before relieving them with air. The surface of the water breaks as you kick upwards, making yourself move further out to sea with the current.

 

The memories of last night seem to fade away as you lose yourself in the motions of swimming. Out in the sea, where there is nothing to do but keep yourself afloat, everything else seems inconsequential. You don’t even realize how far you have managed to get yourself away from shore until you notice you can’t see the cave’s entrance. 

 

Salt water stings your nose, and you’re suddenly acutely aware of the danger you’ve put yourself in. Nothing else matters except getting yourself back to the shore. A wave breaks over your head, pulling you down. You try to follow its flow of current, but another wave yanks your body back up and rolls over you as well. 

 

You manage to keep your head up for air, before diving low enough to keep the wave currents from pushing and pulling you too much and begin swimming. It is a slow way of moving because you continuously have to stop for air, but you manage to make it back to where you can dig your toes into the sandy floor and stand on two feet. 

 

Spluttering and gasping, you push yourself onto the shore, laying down on the sand, utterly limp as you focus on catching your breath. That was terrible and dangerous… and precisely what you needed to distract yourself from the heat. You don’t feel anything but numb exhaustion, and any urge to fuck has been replaced with the desire to lay down and sleep.

 

Allowing yourself to rest, though, would put you back to square one. Your legs shake as you stand, taking a deep breath and facing the cave. Giving yourself something to do might distract you from your hunger and tiredness, so you make a list of objectives in your head. 

 

You slip your shirt back on, fully aware now of how it smells of sweat and sex. It is almost painful to redress into your dirty clothes, after the cleanliness of the ocean. The decision to toss your clothes into the sea crosses your mind, but walking around wholly nude with Hux still skulking about does not hold much appeal. 

 

The hike to the base is, at least, peaceful. You haven’t seen any signs of higher predators, though you know it is only a matter of time. Maybe the Resistance or the Rebel Alliance stored some kind of informative video that could let you know what exactly on this planet wants to eat you. 

 

You step over the various traps, making a mental note to try and disarm them later. Once you’re inside, you find an old janitorial closet, with some cleaning supplies scattered across the rusting shelves. It is not a lot, but you figure that it will probably work for you in the short term. The main thing you need is a broom, to get all the dust and gunk out of your room.

 

In the back, buried under a pile of debris, is a little A-LT Utility droid. None of its lights are on, so it is either completely depleted of power, or it has been turned off for a good number of years. As you pull it free from its prison, you note that it is an older model. As in, maybe before the Rebellion old. You indicate that it is not too terribly heavy, and if you can find something to strap is across your back you can take your entire collection in one trip. 

 

After digging around in the abandoned rooms, you manage to find a knapsack, a small toolkit, and blanket. You shove as many cleaning supplies into the bag as possible, before taking a knife to the sheet, fashioning a sling to carry the droid in. The work so easily distracts yourself from hunger and sex, and soon you have everything gathered together.

 

The way back to the cave is somewhat labor intensive because, with your collection, your body suddenly weighs much more than before. Your boots sink in the mossy floor even more, and you try your best to step on roots and stones to keep any surprise sinking from happening. 

 

When you have returned to the cave, the sun is directly overhead, the heat broiling your skin away. You walk past the other ruins, heading for the cliff face with the temple you have colonized, and manage to climb the steps without passing out. 

 

Water is a necessity to survive, so you allow yourself to accept the bottle from Hux after you unceremoniously dump your findings on the floor. It is drained in a matter of seconds since you haven’t had a drop of water since the morning. 

 

“Eat something.” Hux offers in the disguise of a demand, holding out an open ration package to you. Your stomach gurgles obnoxiously, a dull ache becoming more and more prominent as the day ticks by. The contents are some kind of sandwich of unknown substances, and with most emergency rations, you’re confident you don’t care to know.  

 

To trick your body and satisfy Hux, you take the top piece of bread and begin to gnaw on it, slowly, to prove that you aren’t hungry. He doesn’t appear to be the least bit fooled by your antics, but the relationship that the two of you have built thus far does not give him the right to criticize your eating habits, so he says nothing. 

 

The toolkit provides very little help in actually figuring out how to restore the little A-LT droid’s power unit, since you don’t even know what the problem is, precisely. You have never been much of a tinker in your entire time in the resistance, all of your superiors knew your talents lay elsewhere. 

 

Even so, an impossible task is exactly what you want. As you work on opening the control panel up, Hux begins to sweep out all of the dust, which takes a long while. He continuously looks over at you as he works, mouth in a thin line and brow furrowed as though he is trying to figure out what kind of game you are playing with him. 

 

You refuse to give him anything and keep your eyes glued to the components in your lap. When he refills your water bottle in the river, you only offer a gruff thanks in response. 

 

The internal battery of the little unit has long since been drained, so you first need to figure out how to recharge it. That would require finding an energy source, hooking it up through the base to harness the energy properly, and then finding a power outlet that is entirely intact or being able to piece one together with cannibalized pieces of others. 

 

Without the hope to fix the little guy all the way, you still disassemble it to clean each part with the sling you fashioned from the blanket. 

 

Hux seems to be content with clearing the dust and grime from the stone floors, and slowly but surely the thick layer of dirt is swept out to the hallway. The cobwebs he collected the end of the broom, cleaning out the corners of the room and hopefully keeping the bugs away. Once he’s satisfied with the day’s work, he sits in front of you, boiling something in a little tin pan, watching the way your fingers move with the machinery. 

 

“Although its efficiency at cleaning seems worth the work spent on fixing it,” Hux gestures at the empty battery laid at your feet, “I highly doubt you will get it working. Your time is best spent elsewhere.” 

 

“Elsewhere doing what?” Your temper is short from tiredness and hunger, but you refuse to relent. 

 

“Well, you can help me make this place livable, for one.” Hux can tell that this is a losing battle since you are not completely emotionally stable at the moment. You need to eat and a good night’s rest, maybe even a good fucking to put your nerves at ease. 

 

His hand finds your leg, testing the boundaries of tonight. You look down at it, the deep-rooted lust for him still there in your body, however, it is thoroughly overshadowed by your exhaustion and hunger. The need to have him inside you is still there, but you know what else you could go for right now? Food. Sleep. 

 

Still, though, the temptation is there. But you refuse to give in to him, to allow him to take your body. You move his hand away from you, tossing it back towards his body. A sense of thrill runs through your nerves, that you, an omega, refused an alpha during heat. Hux seems equally aghast, and although he is quite talented at hiding his emotions, he can’t mask the scent of hormones that ripple through his body at your rejection.

 

You turn back to your project and continue tinkering at your droid to hide your face, trembling at this triumph. “I’m not hungry.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! We're getting into -character development- time. There are going to be some more darker themes coming up, so if you are sensitive to things like self inflicted pain then you probably don't want to continue.


	7. Chapter 7

You work into through the late hours of the night, choosing to drink water only when a headache begins to form in the back of your skull. The warm yellow light of the ancient lantern burns into your eyes, tinting your vision orange. Fingers start to stiffen up and ache as the hours fade past in a blur, your entire being focused on the singular task of putting the droid in working order. At some point you fall asleep, laying your head over your arms. 

 

That is how Hux finds you the next morning, slumped over the little machine, drool on your cheek and it. There is a long list of things he wishes to accomplish today to make this shelter marginally more livable, but instead of getting to work he chooses to watch you instead. Observing the way your chest rises and falls with your breath, taking in the curves and contours of your body in the dim light of the lamp, he feels something unsettling stir in his chest. You shift, mumbling something incoherent in your sleep, before settling back down like the dead.

 

Armitage Hux is a man that prides himself on control. Typically, one might find him in his office, and when not organizing many different classified agendas, he would be digging up secrets that his coworkers will not wish to come to light. When Snoke unfortunately passed, the new Supreme Leader (see: that sniveling boy, Ren) did not just change the way the game is played, he punched right through them with the same juvenile ferocity as his usual tantrums. The first item on Supreme Leader Ren’s agenda was to swiftly purge any and all his enemies, and though he and Hux butted heads in the past, Hux did not realize just how high on the agenda he was. 

 

And now, with barely escaping, he finds himself stranded on a suspiciously empty paradise with a beautiful omega. Only there is a chance that any moment, soldiers from either side of the war would storm the home he is barely cobbling together, and the beautiful omega he is stranded with is playing at something he has yet to learn the rules to. It is as though whatever saw fit to put him in the universe crafted this hell of irony specifically for him. 

 

You snort, waking as suddenly as you fell asleep. A shudder runs through your entire body and you sit straight up, stomach growling like a caged animal. Hastily, you wipe the drool off your cheek when your blurry eyes notice someone intently watching you. “Take a holo-picture,” your voice is dry and scratchy, thirst making your throat raw, “it will last longer.” 

 

Instead of taking the bait to fight, he changes the subject. “Would you like to make breakfast today or should I?” 

 

“I’m not hungry,” you lie over the sounds of your stomach growling. He looks at you, so aghast that you dare utter such a blatant untruth to his face that you suddenly find yourself trying not to laugh. 

 

“Like absolute shit you are,” Hux grinds out, eyes narrowing, “do you want me to beg you to eat? Is that what this is about?” 

 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” You roll your eyes to the ceiling. “I don’t think that highly of you. I just don’t feel like eating, okay? Okay.” 

 

Hux glances down at your waist, then back at your eyes. You can almost see the gears turning in his head, a mind of militaristic precision and efficiency. “Do you feel sick?” He asks almost kindly, his voice straining from the effort. “Is it nausea? Don’t tell me-” he suddenly balks, growing pale, “you have your birth control implants in working order, right?” 

 

“Oh,  _ please _ .” You get up, legs shaking from a sugar crash. “Do us both a favor and stop pretending to worry about me.” Picking up the satchel from the ground, you throw it over your shoulder. Quickly remembering your need for water, you snag your bottle before walk towards the exit. Before you leave, you stop briefly to glare at Hux. “And anyway, I would not fuck you if I thought pregnancy was a risk. Believe me.” 

 

“Afraid to be tied down with children?” Hux tries cutting in, half wanting you to stay with him longer and hoping arguing would be the key. 

 

“No.” You do not grace him with further explanation, though. He is undeserving of it. Bitterness seeps into your heart as you make your way back to the rebel base. Anger churns in your stomach, almost taking the place of the hunger there. Almost. Today you plan on doing a more thorough search of the rooms, hoping to find any clothes that either your team or whoever stayed here before has left behind. 

 

You fill your bottle up with canned water rations, then get to work. Pulling out beds, overturning mattresses, checking behind sloppily cobbled together furniture, you look for anything and everything that could make your currently miserable life even the slightest bit less insufferable. In the entire morning spent tearing apart the unburied section of barracks, you find one black tank top that cuts just above your belly button, a pair of cargo pants that are way too large for either you or Hux to wear, a blaster that is too old to work but definitely worth something on the antique market, a pair of tight shorts that are almost too small to be comfortable on you, and a crumpled lacy thong, the purpose of which could be for aesthetic. 

 

The real treasure, however, is in the room that must have been a general’s quarters. Overturning the cheap metal desk, you see a decorative glass bottle, still half full with a golden colored liquid. You pick it up, blowing the dust off the label to see what exactly you have scored. Oh, Force almighty. You have had this kind of liquor only once before, and memories of stealing the highly coveted alcohol give you a rye smile. This shit is strong as a neutron star but goes down dangerously smooth, aged to be at least three centuries before hitting the market. This specific bottle looks to be older than the usual selection, so much so you nearly choke when you see the bottling date.

 

Holy mother of all that is good. Just half the bottle is almost worth a whole planet, only available to the one percent of the one percent. You almost feel bad for whoever left it here, but who are you to reject this gift from the universe? And what was the old saying? _ Finxerunt vicit. Victos flentium. _ You add it to your collection, tucking it away in your satchel next to the shorts. 

 

Spinning around, you see Hux standing in the hallway, waiting for you. “If you told me that you were planning on scavenging today, I might have volunteered to help.” 

 

“I don’t need help,” you state sharply, placing your hand over the top of the satchel as though you are preparing to fight him for it. 

 

He files that movement away for his next analysis of you. “That being so,” Hux says, slowly, “I believe it would be better if we were to stick together, in case of an attack.” 

 

“Whatever. You do what you want to do.” You try walking around him, but he steps in front of you.

 

“Why do you insist on being difficult?” He asks, his eyes narrowing. “This is not ideal for either of us, I know, but you are making everything more complicated than it has to be.” He then takes a step towards you, which on instinct you take a significant step away from him. Your nostrils flare as his scent, his delicious alpha smell wafting towards you. 

 

Huz is still talking, but you only dimly register what he says. Everything suddenly seems too much, the room too dark, your heart too loud, the smell of dust and dirt too strong. The palm of your hand feels suddenly slick and warm. You lift it up to see a cut from your wrist to the where your pinky finger begins, a clean and straight cut as though someone dragged a sharp knife over your hand. 

 

You turn around to see a thin piece of metal, gnarled and twisting out of the wall. You look at your hand again, the pain sharp and hot and drowning out everything else. The blood glistens in the little bit of sunlight that trickles down from the cracks along the ceiling, and you can smell it, the pain oozing along the skin. It feels... good. 

 

Hux stares at your wound for only a second, immediately reaching out and saying something along the lines of let me see or let me help. You quickly dodge his approach, stepping around his body and trying to exit the way you came in. He claps his hand around your arm. “Don’t be ridiculous, you could get an infection. Let me-”

 

A loud, wet smack resonates through the cavern. You do not even remember hitting him, much less with your wounded hand. Panic, white and blinding fritzed through your system at the thought of being trapped  _ trapped trapped oh god he finally snapped  _ and you reacted swiftly, a biting sting trembling through your arm and into your shoulder. Blood smears along his cheek, decorating his face like war paint. 

 

“Do not,” you take a single, shuddering breath, “touch me.” 

 

He looks as surprised as you feel, eyes wide and mouth open in a soft ‘o.’ You swear that you see him trembling like a leaf for a passing second before his posture hardens like cement. Hux’s back straightens, and his jaw sets. He opens his mouth as if to say something, and then closes it firmly. Not giving him a chance to decide what to do, you quickly abscond from the situation, sprinting out of the hallway and then out of the base itself. 

 

Part of you wishes nothing more than to curl up and cry. And it would not be only for what just transpired for years of carefully ignored situations are slowly bubbling to the surface, threatening to spring forth and break you down with their many terrors and guilt. Another part of you is positively furious merely at the suggestion of showing weakness. You put those things away- the things that have happened to you, the trials you have just barely survived, so you would not have to reflect on them beyond from learning your mistakes.  

 

You are hungry and tired, but force yourself to clean the wound the only way you can think of before taking a nap. When you get back to the cave, you strip naked and plunge into the freezing water of the stream, holding your palm out against the current. Though the cold numbs it to a certain degree, the pain of flexing your hand sends little shocks of needles through your arm. With your other hand, you do your best the wash the dirt off the skin of your legs and arms. 

 

Hoisting yourself back up takes a little extra time, but you manage it well enough even with your injury. You forgo your clothes, opting to simply walk back to the room naked to air dry yourself off. Once inside, you dig around in your satchel to find the shorts and shirt, slipping them on with your good hand. Only then do you allow yourself to eat, taking a package of nutty crackers and refilling your water bottle. Trying not to scarf them down in a single gulp, you are sure to take generous sips of water to fill your stomach up and to keep it from growling in protest. You put the trash in a little bag Hux must have set out.

 

You lay down, rolling yourself up into an exhausted burrito, and finally, let yourself have some rest. 

 

\---

 

The last time Armitage Hux had ever been struck across the face was just over twelve years ago. His father still believed he had a right to discipline him through shows of force, though the beatings had gotten more sparse as Armitage had grown into a man. He does not remember the precise reasoning for the punishment, only the burning embarrassment of being an adult and still being punished like an unruly child.

 

Perhaps that is why he froze like he did, the blunt force of your strike jerking his head to the side, his body suddenly thrown back to a time when he had no control. And he wondered, in that exact moment, what his father must think of the bastard boy who had risen to high and then fallen so low. His father would kill him on sight, most likely, shooting first without even bothering to take him in for trial. 

 

Hux had to empty his thoughts before his body would betray him and seize up, and so he straightened his back and turned back towards you, mouth open to threaten you within an inch of your life because he was finished playing nice with someone who did not deserve it. But then he smelled your own fear, eyes wild and terrorized, blood still dripping down your hand. So he stayed silent, even as you ran from the scene. 

 

And there he stays, his face in his hands. Your blood tingles against his cheek, still wet but drying with every second that passes. When he licks his lips, he can taste it there, metallic and salty and something unmistakably of you. Your scent burns his nostrils with every inhale, one final taunt that won’t allow him to forget you, not for a single solitary moment. 

 

_ Identify the problem.  _ You.  _ You _ are the problem. He needs to rut, needs to plunge himself deep inside of you and release. He knows that you are still in heat, he can smell it wafting off of you, yet you will not allow him to relieve you of the pain.

 

_ Analyze the problem. _ You never once gave off the impression of being a masochist, quite the opposite, actually. You never once struck him as someone to do something for no reason at all. You perpetuate this, all for a purpose. For what? To prove a point? What point?  

 

He needs to figure out some sort of solution. First, he needs to calm himself and look into these issues further, because he knows people. He has been working with and against them for years, and even though your behaviors are something new, he must have something stored away that could somehow help. 

 

Maker. This is supposed to be easy. That is what all those other alphas with omegas say. If you want sex, you take it from them. They give it like spice whores in the gutters, a good alpha’s cock like the next drug high they so desperately want. The heat is supposed to make it infinitely easier to claim, so much so that chemicals have been developed to do anything from trigger the heat to simulate heat, so an alpha does not have to wait on simple things like biology for a good rut. Of course, suppressants have been developed as well. And though they are outlawed in the First Order, the New Republic hands them out like lollipops. 

 

Hux stands, his teeth gritted as he straightens up his posture. Perhaps deep seeded hatred of the First Order must be one of the factors that keep you from seeking him out further. Well, and he is willing to admit this, he did get off with you on the wrong foot. His hormone-fueled attempts on your mating gland might have scared you as well. For the first time, Armitage Hux comes to terms with the fact that he can not just have whoever he wanted. 

 

He always kind of knew that, but he also was never once rejected in the entirety of his life. Maybe it was because he normally chose someone he knew was willing, and certainly, there was a song and dance to do, usually with the higher class ladies, but there was always someone to warm his bed should he want it. And now he desperately wants it, and the only person on the planet could care less. 

 

As he walks back towards the ruins, he decides to try offering an olive branch in your direction. A truce of some kind, one to put you at ease to be around him at least. He finds you rolled up in blankets, the edges of your feet poking out on one end. Carefully, he sits cross-legged in a respectful distance besides you, placing his hands on his knees as he quickly decides what to say. 

 

“I believe we misunderstand each other.” Hux glances over towards the little droid you have been tinkering with. “I am not your enemy anymore, and you are not mine. The war does not exist here, there is no reason for us to bicker. I apologize sincerely, for I reflected badly on both myself and my people.” 

 

He waits, and when you don’t respond, he continues. “I understand that you may not have a good impression of alphas, but I would like for you to know that I would do nothing to hurt you. If, by any chance, you come to harm by any of my actions or even inactions,” he pauses, thinking for the first time in his life what a more passionate man might say, “I will lay down for you to cut out my own heart.” He waits a few moments, letting his words sink in. 

 

“I am at your service.” The words are almost bitter on his tongue, subjugation foreign to both him and his family name. “I am at your service,” Hux says again, more force in his words, “You don’t have to go through this alone. Let me bear the burden as well.” 

 

Nothing happens. He knows you are awake, he can see your legs shifting under the covers, can smell the emotions zipping through your body. Slowly, your injured hand moves out from the blankets and lays in front of him, palm up and vulnerable. He takes it into his hands, careful to avoid the cut, and looks it over. Then he raises to his lips and kisses the uninjured fingers, one by one. “Let’s take care of this, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter!


	8. Chapter 8

It surprises most people to learn that Armitage wanted to be a doctor at some point in his life. Back before his father molded him into an identical version of himself, back when Armitage thought he had a choice. Even after Brendol Hux made it clear that Armitage had to be an officer of the First Order, Armitage figured he could be one as a doctor. The higher ranked medical staff are, in fact, officers, however, that narrative did not align with Brendol Hux’s vision of the future. 

 

Even so, Armitage has a higher than average medical knowledge than the rest of his peers. He never had a chance to use any of it, besides occasionally on himself,  until right now. Although the amount of medical supplies left around the med bay in the base leaves much to be desired, a part of being an officer means sometimes working in less than optimal conditions. There are cotton balls, an old bottle with only an inch or two of rubbing alcohol left, and a few gauze pads. 

 

He soaks on of the cotton balls in the rubbing alcohol, then gently begins dabbing it against your hand. It must sting like hell, but the only sound you make is a soft hiss, your fingers involuntarily twitching. The cut looks like it was recently washed, probably in the stream, but it is always good to be thorough. Once the cotton ball turns pink with the blood still oozing from the skin, he takes another one and continues. He holds your hand steady in his, relishing the small amount of skin contact between the two of you after two days of hostility. 

 

Once satisfied with the cleanliness of the wound, he presses the gauze against your palm to stop the bleeding entirely. There are not any bandages to wrap the gauze with, so he takes your makeshift sling from the day before and tears strips from it. With care, he slowly begins to wind the cloth around your hand, careful not to tie it too tight. When he knots the edges together, he raises your palm, wound up, to his mouth and gives it a kiss. 

 

“There,” Hux murmurs, letting you slide your hand back under the covers. “I feel like a late lunch. Would you like to join me?”  

 

Though you don’t make any noise to accept or refuse his offer, you sit up, the blanket wrapped around your body still. Your face is carefully schooled, but even a master of poker faces can’t hide dark shadows under their eyes. Hux had not noticed just how tired you really are, with the gentle slope of your posture to the slightly glassy gaze. 

 

As if sensing his thoughts (and he has had enough of people prying into his head, thank you very much), you give him a sideways look. Trying to make some conversation, he attempts asking if you have ever done much cooking in the Resistance. You give him a noncommittal shrug in response, eyes sharply watching every twitch his fingers make as he starts the little stove top. Hux can’t tell if it is because you want to learn what he is doing or if you are watching for a trap. Perhaps both. 

 

One of the boxes he brought back contains some kind of powdered egg, species unidentified. More likely than not multiple types were tossed into the mix, quantity over quality with these kinds of rations. Next, he has a few different dried vegetables that he stirs in, letting the mixture bubble against the heat. 

 

You watch, blank and disinterested. The blanket is wrapped tightly around your body, as though shielding you from any advancements he might make. Hux notes to himself not to try anything, even though his body aches for yours.

  
  


“I didn’t know that the alphas of the first order knew how to cook.” Your voice interrupts Hux from his thoughts, and though he tries to be indifferent, it takes some effort not to visibly seem excited to hear you speak. He pokes at the pan, taking care to choose his words before answering. 

 

“After my mother died, I did have to learn how to take care of myself the hard way.” Hux absentmindedly arranges the cooking utensils and pans, then rearranges them as he speaks. “My father did not exactly pamper me, believe it or not.” He waits tensely waits for a response, after all, he has a habit of not allowing his past to ever be public. When Hux turns back to look at you, the blanket seems slightly tighter around your body than the last time he checked. 

 

“I see.” You say, after a long while of awkward silence. 

 

Hux places the finished omelet into a metal bowl, then hands it to you. The both of your fingers awkwardly brush up against each other through the exchange, and though Hux prefers to think of himself as above prepubescent thoughts, a shiver of warmth runs through his body at the contact. 

 

“Thank you.” You mumble. Then, after a beat of silence, you add, unprompted, “Armitage.” 

 

Hux struggles to keep from vibrating his every cell into space. “You’re welcome.” He manages to keep his voice from sounding strangled. These feelings inside his chest are tight and unfamiliar. It is so much different than the usual satisfaction he gets from utterly destroying his enemies. This is foreign. But, after a long while of reflecting on its effects on his psyche, he realizes that it is shockingly not unwelcome.

 

You don’t inhale the food as you usually do. Hux realizes with a large amount of satisfaction that it is because you are savoring his cooking. He begins his own portion, forgoing any of the vegetables he found unacceptable to his personal tastes.

 

Soon enough he sits cross-legged in front of you with his own plate. 

 

The silence, the words that need to be said yet are not, almost deafens him with their weight. Hux is hyper-aware of every breath you make, bracing himself for your words every time your lungs intake more than usual. Yet, even after you return your plate, you say nothing. 

 

Though he can smell your body beckoning him to take you, Hux dares not risk the carefully built truce he just structured. Instead, he turns back to the stove top and collects the dishes to wash. Before he can leave, your hand lashes out suddenly and grasps his arm. 

 

“I just want this to be over with,” you mutter almost too softly for him to hear. “I’m so tired. Of everything.” 

 

Hux looks you over, at your exhausted eyes that glimmer with a rage so fundamentally a part of your psyche that it burns through into his mind. And he sees that you are waiting for him to take advantage of the unspoken offer. That you are waiting to be pushed against the ground and taken from behind in the most grossly primal way sex can be had. He wants to. 

 

But he surprises you both and does not make a move, except to raise the hand that touched him to his lips, kissing you gently before letting go. “You do look exhausted,” Hux muses as though just noticing it for the first time. “Why don’t you lay down while? I will continue to clean the halls so that we don’t track dust into our room.” 

 

You narrow your eyes ever so slightly, searching for a double meaning, maybe even an outright lie. When you don’t detect any malice, you give a light shrug and pull the blankets tighter around your shoulders, laying your head down against a crumpled sheet. Once your breathing deepens and your body relaxes, Hux began picking up after lunch. 

 

Perhaps his suggestion that you rest was fundamentally selfish, since at his core he preferred to deal with you once you were in a more reasonable state. Though he had to quickly come up with a way to say ‘calm down’ that would not set you off in a fit of rage, he thinks he did a somewhat decent job. Hux had not needed to use his required emotional intelligence class from the academy in a long while, but he is marginally more grateful about it now than he was as a cadet drowning during finals week. The point of the class was to be able to properly manipulate civilians when brunt force was not an option, and though Hux much prefers the disgraceful beauty of firing squads executing rebellion before it begins, the tactic change in this situation seems to be working. 

 

He pauses every so often to gaze at your dozing body, the observe the steady rise and fall of your chest as though he fears you may simply give up and cease breathing. When you wake again, the light from the edge of the cavern is fading into a dull purple, the sun setting over the ocean’s horizon. You yawn, stretching your body like a lethal predator preparing to hunt, glancing over to him as though you just realized he is in the room with you. You sit, eyes bleary with sleep, looking at him over as though this is the morning of an unremarkable one night stand. 

 

“Good evening, sunshine.” He almost blanches as he uses the expression, having not heard it once since his mother died all those years ago. She used to knock on his door before entering his room first thing in the morning to get him ready for primary school. _ Good morning, sunshine, _ she would whisper while she gently shook him awake. The world they lived on had a red giant for their sun, and so comparing his mop of rusty blond baby curls to their star was not a far reach. 

 

You sneeze, yanking him almost violently from his past. Clearing your throat, you twist your neck to the side, popping the joints in a satisfying crack. “So.” Your voice is scratchy, “what is on the agenda for tonight?” 

 

Is this… some kind of truce offering? “I was hoping to clean one of the nearby rooms to store our things, to clean up the clutter.” 

 

You cock your head. “Toss me the broom, big boy.” 

 

The two of you cleaned in absolute silence. Ironically, though Hux would have enjoyed this quiet not two days ago, he now finds it rather disconcerting. Neither of you bothers with dinner, having to ration what you can until rescue comes. If it comes at all. 

 

You allow him to wrap his arms around your side as you lay down to sleep, your back pressed against his chest. When you wake, his hand is still on your stomach, his fingertips touching the bare flesh where your shirt ends. And then you feel it, the familiar spark in your core that stoked the desire inside, the desire that never truly went away, only going dormant while you resisted your body’s needs. Without further thought, you place your hand over his and lead it to your breast. 

  
  
  


His breathing shifts as soon as you touch hands, arousal heating his skin once you led it to its intended destination. You don’t know how long he has been awake, or if you woke him the moment you touched him, but that does not matter. Shifting to a sitting position, still holding his hand against your chest, you face him fully. A beat of silence descends upon the morning, the air brisk with a dewy taste. He stares at you, his icy lagoon eyes carefully observing your every move. You let the moment hang for only a moment. “Take off your clothes, general.” 

 

His hand leaves your breast to hastily unbutton the front of his shirt. Before he has a chance to work on his pants, you are on him like a savage animal, fingers digging into his pale shoulders as you push him down against the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

 

God, your smell. The sweet, minty scent of your omega pheromones burns through Hux’s nostrils. His mouth positively waters at the idea of burying his face between your legs and licking you dry. Need fills him, and more importantly, relief. Relief that your arousal for him has returned, but also a small amount of worry. There is something in your eyes, not the usual bitter possessiveness you used to show for him, but a dull acceptance of your fate. 

 

However, as you pull your shirt over your head with little show, he says nothing in protest, doesn’t voice his concerns for your wellbeing. His hands come to rest on your waist, and he does nothing without your express permission. 

 

Permission is too lenient a word for how you voice your desires. You command. And like a loyal soldier, he obeys without question. You whisper where you want to be touched, and he brings his fingers there. He tweaks, pinches, rolls your nipples in your fingers and your breaths become heavy with need. You guide one of his hands to your thighs, and he sits up, replacing his hands upon your breasts with his mouth. 

 

His tongue is skilled, making your muscles melt under its talent. Your nipples, you think, could be sharp enough to cut through steel at this point. You arch your back, letting out a soft whine as his thumb finds your clothed clit. The quivering slit between your thighs is wet and needy, and he is able to push your underwear away and slip his finger inside with no resistance, pumping his hand not up and down, but back and forth to give your clit as much stimulus as possible. With his other hand, he works on slipping your underwear off with as little interruption from his ministrations as possible. With some amount of finesse, he succeeds on sliding them down to your knees. 

 

You are on the edge suddenly, your orgasm creeping up on you like a cliff on a misty night, unseen until you are on its brink. And you pitch yourself forward, headfirst, into the abyss. Electricity bursts through your body, running down from your spine, to your fingertips, to your toes, and back into your core. Your body spasms, your hips bucking on their own, against Hux’s still massaging fingers. A moan escapes your throat, a subtle whine that he almost does not hear. 

 

Still hazy from your orgasm, you grab at his shoulders again and twist, effectively switching position. Hux now lays on top of you, his cock straining in his arousal. You help undo his pants, slipping them off with your feet. His undergarments barely make it beyond his waist before you are guiding him to your cunt, still dripping with arousal and cum. 

 

Your second orgasm is the last straw for him, he almost chokes as your core clenches around his cock, his seed spilling into you. Words are forming on the tip of his tongue, things that he wants to say but ultimately will not. His mouth meets yours, wishing for things he will not allow himself to even think about. 

 

You only let him hold you until his own cool trembling ceases, quick to push him away from you and onto the floor. _Wait,_ he wants to say, _not yet,_ but you are already standing, naked with a pussy full of his essence. “I need to bathe before we anything else.” You look around for your shirt and find it tossed senselessly to the other side of the room. 

 

“Of course,” Hux says agreeable, trying to sound as casual as possible. “I think I should join you.” 

 

You shrug as soon as you manage to wiggle into the shirt. “Whatever.” 

 

It’s the same as before, where you react to his wants and desires with cool indifference, instead of outright resistance. This should make him satisfied, maybe even a slightly victorious, but strangely, he feels anything but. 

 

When you said you wanted to bathe, he assumed that you wanted to go down to the frigid stream that runs through the ancient ruins. However, you apparently meant to swim for a bit in the ocean. He enters the crystalline blue water, only going up to his waist, watching you freestyle swim further off in the neck-deep area of the beach. Then he retreats back to the steadily heating sands, satisfied to sit in the direct paths of waves. 

 

He observes you carefully, afraid that your body could be so easily dragged from the surface and away from him. Hux thinks that your demise would certainly pain him beyond all words, though he cannot much fathom why. Surely, he would prefer an omega with a more pliable personality. Feet digging into the damp sand, he realizes that no, he would not favor a different omega. This new revelation causes his stomach to burn, his lungs to seize.

 

It most certainly is not because he is _ fond  _ of you, it must be because you are the only being he has been graced with contact for almost a month. He does not want anyone else because he has not been allowed to see anyone but you. When you pulled away, he must have been so annoyed (not devastated, he would not go that far) because the only person who could be his companion pulled away. Humans crave connections, and though he has worked so hard to not need any, this just goes to show that he is not exempt from his species.

 

That must be it, Hux decides. When he returns to the First Order, he will have his pick of omegas. Perhaps he should consider settling down. Even though he tries not to, though, his eyes continue to watch you with a fierce kind of protectiveness.


	9. Chapter 9

His moans had changed a bit from when the two of you first began fucking. 

 

You have him in your mouth, lazily spinning circles around the head with your tongue. The heat that had you by the throat is steadily seeping back where it came from, leaving you without the dusty haze that clouded your every thought. Now you feel like you can properly think and feel, and so you celebrate that by assessing the way Armitage Hux bucks his cock deeper into your mouth. 

 

His breathing is ragged, his back arching against the mat when you pull back while grazing your teeth against his tender skin. You decide that you like him like this, his face turning red from the strain, his fancy dialect reduced to incoherent syllables, his fingers gently massaging your scalp as you move back and forth. Oh, and the  _ begging, _ you love that. Pleading falls on your ears like the sweetest music, your stomach hot with your own need by the time he spills. 

 

You spit the cum out, ready to rinse the inside of your mouth with water when he sits up and grabs your face for a kiss. It isn’t some cowardly thank-you peck on the cheek, oh no, his tongue swipes over your lips before moving further, fully tasting whatever of himself is still left. While you are distracted by how downright filthy that move is, he flips you over to your back and lays his bare body against your fully clothed one. 

 

He pulls away, moving to your stomach, his hot tongue dragging against the tender flesh. “You didn’t think that I would let you leave me unsatisfied, did you?” Already he has become skilled at removing your pants and underwear in a single movement, exposing your cunt for whatever he has planned. 

 

“Bold of you to assume you have ever satisfied-  _ oh, _ ” your challenge fizzles into a high-pitched mewl as he buries his face between your legs and fucking  _ sucks _ at your lips. 

 

Every movement is carefully calculated, as though he had been planning on how best to eat you out all through the day. His tongue flicks against your clit, your hands clawing against the mat to distract yourself from having to cry out. The enthusiasm he puts into his ministrations itself almost sends you over the edge, though you just barely manage to push yourself back from the quickly approaching edge building inside your core. 

 

Your weeping slit pulses hard along with your heartbeat, a roar rolling along inside your head like an ocean tempest churning inside your body. Hux licks at your arousal,  _ audibly _ < enjoying the taste, his hands running up and down the inner side of your thighs. Then he begins to kiss the area just beyond your pussy, circling his lips around the clit but  _ not quite touching it goddamnit.  _

 

“You taste  _ divine. _ ” Those words are a statement made as though there is no possible rebuttal you can make to convince him otherwise. Oh, Maker, his eyes. Hooded and filled with lusty promise, those irises almost a shade darker in the dim light of the cave. You can  _ feel _ a new wave of arousal begin to flood your core, dripping down to be lapped up by his eager mouth. 

 

It’s almost enough to make you whimper. 

 

Almost.

  
  


For all his faults, Armitage Hux is positively  _ thorough. _ There is a certain amount of tease in what he does, such as the stroking of his tongue dancing around your clit without touching it, but once he goes in, he’s all in until you are nothing more than a trembling mess under his mouth. Your orgasm approaches, you can feel its coiling. You also understand that, like the times before, you can definitely just leave him with a hard cock to take care of on his own.

 

But you feel generous today, for whatever reason. You dig your fingers into that ginger hair and  _ pull _ him away from between your legs, his tongue out and his breath hard and panting. “Cum inside me.” 

 

The man doesn’t need to be told twice. He lifts your hips, aiming only a moment before sliding inside you with such ease that it is almost as though your bodies morphed overnight to fit each other perfectly. You can see him fighting for control of himself, his eyes glassy, his chest trembling. The thrusts start slowly as if Hux had every intention of slowing your inevitable pleasure,  but the desire for pure carnage overrides everything else. The rhythm quickens, his hips meeting your thighs faster and faster until your vision narrows and your back arches, a quaking spreading out from your core to the surrounding muscles. 

 

You give in and cry out, reaching out to touch him. His skin is warm and pleasant against your cold fingertips, your palms flat against his pecs. No snide comments, no lecherous smirks at your show of… not affection, you don’t think, but a sudden lack of hatred. He holds you like something precious, like you might slip away from his grasp and never return. The kisses start with a passion as his own orgasm bursts through his body, but turn lazy and sweet as the both of you are spent. 

 

As the afterglow fades away, you realize that you,  _ you, _ a Resistance agent, an  _ omega _ , are laying underneath the galaxy’s most wanted war criminal, an _ alpha, _ your tongue in his mouth and still shivering with the pleasure he brought you. 

 

_ And you fucking like it. _

 

Guilt crawls through your stomach and into your veins, hot and unforgiving. You are not allowed to care, you were  _ never _ allowed to care. Using a bit of strength, you shove him off of you with little warning, then get up in one fluid motion. The air is crisp with morning, your nipples hard against your arms as you cover them. With a small amount of desperation, you try to find your clothes, as though covering your body will somehow wipe your slate clean. Succeeding in locating the crumpled fabric, you pause at the doorway. 

 

“I’m going for a swim.” 

 

And then you leave, without looking at him for a response. 

 

The heat that plagued you is gone by that point, the act of sex, you suppose, was just that. An act. A habit that the two of you had created under a high-stress situation, and one that neither of you bothered to stop. It means nothing.  _ Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. _

 

When you return, body still damp, he says nothing. You understand suddenly that you are being given the cold shoulder when you ask him something simple like  _ what do our food stores look like _ and getting only a clipped, well-rehearsed response. Hux is mad at you for something, you realize as you narrow your eyes, trying to think of what it can possibly be. There is no reason for him to be upset at you since the two of you are soldiers on the opposite side of war. 

 

“Let’s make a run to the bunker, then.” You walk over to where your makeshift sling is and grab it. 

 

Hux follows. He always follows you on supply runs to the bunker, even if he doesn’t verbally agree that it’s a good idea. Like a shadow, you think as you climb over the rubble of the shelter as you have so many times before. The inside you can probably navigate with a blindfold, hidden tripwires and all, though you keep close to Hux as you make your way to the kitchen area. Then the two of you wander to the opposite sides of the room, as though any more time spent near each other would cause one of you to explode. 

 

The sound of engines rocketing through the sky shatters the afternoon.

 

Hux is collecting soup packets when he hears it, the sound sharp and unmistakable. He immediately searched for your figure in the ruins of the base, confident that no matter who it is, this will be the last few moments he ever has with you. Desperation increasing with every precious second that ticks by, he calls your name, his voice almost breaking. 

 

“I’m here.” You are also worried, but for a very different reason. Whoever it is will most likely deem to take you alive, whether it’s going to be in handcuffs or not, you’ll soon find out. As you storm towards him, pretending to be in a pissy mood to hide your fear, you stuff your hand in the pocket of your pants and press your thumb against a razor blade. If not the Resistance, you know what will happen to you, and you are prepared to end things before it does. You turn to Hux, a prisoner of war,  _ your _ prisoner, and see his skin turn to a sickly pale. As you approach him, an uneasy sense blooms in your stomach. 

 

This is his chopping block, no matter who walks through those doors. The line ends here, you realize too late, now that he is close enough to pin your wrists to the wall. The dust and grit dig into the skin of your arms, the rusty metal only a skin layer away from infecting you with disease. His eyes are wild with something primal and terrifying. You wonder if whoever is out there is just going to find your corpse, cold with death, or are they going to give up after the first few rooms and leave you to rot? 

 

“Let me go.” Your words are a calm facade, barely holding back the terror that has set into your chest. When a sharp, well-aimed kick to his shin offers nothing in response, the panic truly sets in. You try wriggling from his grip, twisting your wrists to search for any weakness to exploit. 

 

Warm breath tickles the skin of your neck as he leans forward. Every moment of training fails you as he nuzzles your mating gland, your stomach dropping into the planet’s molten core. None of your reflexes have just…  _ frozen _ like this before, like you are caught in some sort of trap that your own body has set. As his mouth presses against your sweating skin for a kiss, you try to will your legs to move. 

 

Anything that does happen will not deter him. He stays that way, lips on your mating gland, and you can almost  _ hear _ the thought process echoing through his head. If it  _ is _ the Resistance, an excellent way to guarantee his own safety would be to force mate one of their own. No one would kill him, because everyone knows that General Leia would never risk your safety for the execution of a monster. Well, not without your permission, anyway. 

 

He licks at your neck the exact same way he licked your clit merely hours ago. A little swipe of the tongue dancing around the actual gland, almost touching it but not quite. The decision to claim you is logical, and you know that Armitage Hux is a man of logic. Bitterness creeps up around your body like a vine, strangling your breath and causing you to shake. This isn’t fucking  _ fair, _ you want to spit at the universe, knowing very well its cold and unforgiving nature. 

 

An unfamiliar stinging burns your eyes. “You fucking _ bastard _ ,” you can barely choke through tears,  _ tears, _ you haven’t cried since forever, balling your hands up into fists and digging your fingernails into your palms. 

 

He stops right then, pulling back and staring blankly into your eyes, as though in some kind of trance. Hux blinks, once, then stands straight, releasing your wrists. A banging starts on the other side of the building, shouting echoing through the halls. None of it registers. The only two people in the universe are you and the alpha that almost destroyed your life. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he says like it would make any difference. 

 

_ I bet you are,  _ you want to say. The parts of you that are meant to create words fail because whatever isn’t dedicated to crying is still frozen in place with fear. 

 

The people on the other side are yelling. Your callsign registers in your brain, but you barely put in the effort to perk up. 

 

“I am,” Hux repeats, trying to get you to believe him, as if your opinion  _ matters _ to him. 

 

They are approaching, you can hear the sounds of an indignant and angry feline screech. 

 

You step forward, towards him, and place your hands on either side of his shoulders. As though you are about to kiss him in the act of ultimate forgiveness, you lean towards his shuddering body. 

 

Then you bite him. 

 

Right on the neck, where an omega mating gland would be. Blood mixes with your saliva as you rip into his flesh with your teeth, your hold against him strong enough to keep him from struggling away. He doesn’t scream. You bite down harder, stepping away only as your squadron shoves their way into the room, blood on your mouth like a trophy of victory. 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://padawantimelord.tumblr.com/) for updates on fics and illustrations!  
> 


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